


A Stumble in Time

by SorcerersScone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Do-Over, Gen, Good Severus Snape, Hermione Granger-centric, POV Hermione Granger, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-05-01 16:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 51
Words: 97,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14524821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SorcerersScone/pseuds/SorcerersScone
Summary: Voldemort had a back-up plan and came back with a vengeance. As a result, Harry, Ron, and Astoria Greengrass died two months after the final battle, when Voldemort stepped out of the veil of death and destroyed the Ministry. Hermione spent three years afterwards salvaging what she could of the defenseless Wizarding World, helped by a rather shaken Draco Malfoy. When Voldemort targets and destroys both Draco's and Hermione's parents, they decide that they're better off starting all over than they are muddling through another loss. But time is a fickle friend, and not all of them make it back alive.





	1. Prologue

The room was dark, and very quiet. A faint hum of magic, only visible to the careful eye, was the only indication that the place was fit for living at all. A large archway stood in the center of the room, otherworldly mist drifting between it’s stone frame. This room, the room that contained the Veil of Death, was the only remaining room in the entire Minsitry of Magic. And there were only two Wizardfolk in the room to appreciate it before it was to explode, never to be used again.

“You ready, Granger?” Draco drawled, breaking the heavy silence. He sneered her name, and for a moment looked more characteristic of his younger self than the man she knew. Hermione knew better than to take that seriously, even if she could (he looked far less intimidating with three teeth knocked out and a stub for a hand).

She knew she didn’t look much better. The side of her face that Draco could see was clearly maimed beyond repair (Dolhov, again. That man needed to learn how to die). “As I’ll ever be.” She held out her four-fingered hand, and he wrapped his handless arm around it.

“Redite praeterito!” They chanted. “Redite praeterito!” The Veil of Death, in the last standing room of the old Ministry, started glowing. They locked eyes. At least they would die with their last friend, if it wasn’t going to work. At least they’d die together, and not suffer the slow torture of Voldemort’s reign over Great Britain.

“REDITE PRAETERITO!” They screamed, and Hermione ran straight to the Veil of Death. She turned around in horror, as she saw Draco trip and lie half in, half out of the Veil. And as the world disappeared around her, she saw the Veil start to explode, stone flying outwards until the room was no more.

* * *

Hermione had a strange dream. She dreamt that she was floating through an underground city where everything moved backwards – a great building was constructed around her, and then the world started to slowly age older and older, until it looked like a scene from a fairy tale. Quaintly, a little brook bubbled and flowed. She followed the brook, floating as if she were a ghost, and came to an oddly familiar cottage. Vines fell slowly off the sides, swirling back into the earth, and the cottage became more and more shiny, like it had just been built.

And suddenly, the house started falling apart. Not like it was being crushed or burned, but it was being taken away, piece by piece, brick by brick. Hermione hardly paid it any mind, for the brook called her onwards. She stared at the crystal-clear waters of the stream, not noticing that the trees were shrinking at a fairly alarming rate around her. There was a decrepit castle, suddenly, up on a hill. As she watched, the black stone turned a fiery red. Just as suddenly, it turned a cool grey, and started to piece itself back together.

 A clock tower’s _gong!_ made her jump – it kept going, incessantly drumming into her brain, making her cover her ears in shock – she closed her eyes, and before she could process anything else, she was brought to a halt. She shook her head to clear it of the confusing events, and peered around herself.

Hermione was in Hogwarts. She saw a student walking away from her, seemingly frozen mid-step. Another student was casting a spell, mouth hanging open and a beam of purple light gathering at the tip of his wand. They weren’t moving, and suddenly Hermione considered that something had gone very, very wrong.

Her ghostly form wandered further into the castle; she was on the third floor, she realized, and not far from the infirmary. Maybe Poppy would be there?

Hermione glided onwards, past a frozen Peeves (holding water-balloons over some firsties), past Minerva (clearly in the process of lecturing him), and straight through the doors to the hospital wing.

With a gasp, she realized what had happened – this moment was one she could never forget. A 14-year-old Hermione Granger stood frozen, with one hand on a golden necklace and the other clutching Harry’s robes.

 _Harry_ , her Harry, sweet, brave Harry, was here! She had done it, she’d gone back in time and now she could make sure that future would _never_ happen again. Unable to help herself, she brushed a hand across Harry’s cheek. It was warm, but still as death. No heartbeat passed through those veins, no breath rose and fell from his lips. How to get time moving? She looked at her former self: that innocent girl who she barely recognized. Instinctively, she grabbed the time turner, and reality shattered in on her.

 

 


	2. Chapter 1 - Fifteen Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione returns to the timeline in her third year.

"Miss Granger!"

"Miss Granger, you must wake up!"

Hermione blearily heard Poppy calling her. She must be really concerned, Poppy hadn't called her Miss Granger since her seventh year. Something niggled in the back of her mind. When she opened her eyes, looking up at the white cloth of her four-poster, it came rushing back to her – the spell! It worked! She was here, at Hogwarts, Poppy wasn't the vigilante leader but the school nurse.

"Po- Madam Pomfrey!" Hermione said as the woman leaned back over her. "What happened? What time is it? Where's Harry?" She was starting to panic.

"Miss Granger, please calm yourself," she said crisply. Hermione stiffened and nodded, breathing deeply. This sounded more like the leader she had followed. "You had an accident with your time turner, and you've been in the hospital wing for six days. The farewell feast is this evening, and the Express leaves tomorrow at 11."

Hermione stayed calm, but her mind was racing. Six days? What had gone wrong, that she had been unconscious for six days?

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey." She said blankly. Her mind was elsewhere.

Something had gone wrong- really wrong. She wasn't supposed to be here; and she didn't mean in the hospital wing. No, that was solvable, but this was third year! She was supposed to come back first year, with Draco in tow! She had seen herself and Harry coming back from the trip to save Sirius and Buckbeak, instead of 11-year-old Hermione as a first year walking through Platform 9 3/4. She integrated with her past self just fine, but that was supposed to happen first year, not third.

All their plans were ruined. Draco had come up with most of the ideas to lock their future thoughts in their mindscapes until second year; they couldn't maintain a timed obliviate anymore, to preserve the timeline until certain events came up (like the debacle with Quirrel or the Chamber of Secrets). All their carefully timed schemes were useless. She needed to talk to Draco- but no, Draco didn't make it, did he? The image of his broken body, half covered by the mist of the veil of death, half stuck in the the future-

She gasped, letting out one choked sob, and Poppy bustled over to her. Her last friend was dead.

"Miss Granger, are you feeling quite well?" She asked, and Hermione realized that her friends weren't quite dead, were they? Her Draco was gone, but Draco still existed in this timeline. Hell, Sirius and Cedric still existed in this timeline!

Hermione considered her words carefully, realizing Poppy was waiting for a reply, "I'm just afraid they won't let me take all my classes next year, since I messed up with the time turner."

Poppy sat down, her face darkening. She was looking more like the woman Hermione knew, all business and getting to the bottom of things. "Miss Granger, you seem to have used the time turner more than you ought-" She put up a hand to stop Hermione from saying anything, "No, let me finish. Someone gave you advice to use a dangerous magical artifact when you were already emotionally and physically exhausted. Now I'm sure you remember how to safely use the time turner, and the willpower that the caster must maintain during the trip."

Hermione nodded silently. McGonagall, all those years ago, told her quite clearly that without the necessary focus, one could easily get lost in time. That's why you had to watch the world move around you, you had to consciously pick the moment where the timeline stopped, disengage the time turner, and reintegrate into the timestream. She briefly wondered if the presence of her younger self using the time turner had interrupted her travel, but Poppy was already talking again.

"You won't be blamed for the time turner usage last night. Headmaster Dumbledore," she pursed her lips in a way that Hermione knew meant that Dumbledore would be having a talking to, "took the liberty of smoothing things over to the Kairos department, and no one was informed of this occurrence."

In her mind, Hermione sent a faint thanks to Dumbledore, the manipulative old goat, for prioritizing the Greater Good over the time-space continuum.

Poppy continued, realizing that Hermione wasn't going to speak. "I cannot stop you from continuing your classes, Miss Granger." Their eyes met, and she felt a prickle of legilimancy at her defenses. She let her gratitude and relief cloud her mind, and the prickle disappeared. "I won't stop you, Miss Granger, but I will insist that you keep up your health. I'm frankly appalled that I wasn't informed earlier, as your primary physician."

Hermione lowered her eyes, "I'm sorry, Madam Pomfrey, I was told not to tell anyone at all, and-"

Poppy cut over her again, "Oh I'm not angry at you, child. The Deputy Headmistress and I will have a brief chat," her eyes flashed dangerously, "but it isn't your fault. How do you think Professor Dumbledore got twelve OWLs?" She let that sink in for a moment, a wry grin on her face.

"You are not the first to use a time turner for classes, Miss Granger, and you certainly aren't the first to have any problems with it. I will insist, however, that you meet with me at least twice a month to make sure you're not neglecting your own needs."

Hermione reddened slightly, looking down at her slim 15-year-old body. She had no muscle mass to speak of, and she knew her past self hadn't eaten enough. She had lived an entire 11 months extra during the year, making her current body 15 and 8 months old (not to mention that her mind was twenty-one). "I promise, Madam Pomfrey, I'll come meet with you."

"Excellent, my dear," she said pleasantly. With no further ado, her wand whipped furiously in the air, running diagnostics charms with the speed of a seasoned dueler. "I have asked the house elves to help you pack: you must limit strenuous exercise for the next few days, your muscles will be weak after lying in bed for six days. I suggest beginning to walk around your neighborhood when you get home, and perhaps running and calisthenics once you feel up to it."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said, letting her very real relief color the words.

Poppy smiled warmly at her, belaying her harsh words, "Now off with you, before I decide to keep you here for another week!"


	3. Chapter 2 - Back to School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione meets up with Harry and Ron.

Hermione had a lot to do. She had less than a day to decide what she needed from Hogwarts before going into her summer holiday, and even less time to process what had just happened. Hermione was alone; frighteningly, terribly alone. She'd never considered that only one of them would make it back – it was all or nothing, and instead of a flawless plan to save the Wizarding World with Draco at her side, she was left with nothing.

While she was mourning for her Draco, she couldn't let herself forget their goal. She had work to do, and Lord Voldemort wasn't going to destroy his own immortality. She had a long talk with Minerva, in which she convinced her professor that yes, she still wanted to take all her classes, and no, she wouldn't let herself get so exhausted she messed up the travel spell again.

Minerva had a bit of a twinkle in her eye, so the headmaster had seemingly gotten around to informing her of the Sirius Black situation.

And it was on that thought that Hermione decided what to do for the summer. If Draco was still a whiny pureblood prince, she would have to gain other allies, and Sirius was an accomplished dueler. He might be her ticket to solving the Harry-at-the-Dursley's problem, because everything relied on Harry being emotionally stable and competent. Plus, she learned exactly how bad the Dursley's had been to Harry two years ago (or was that five years from now?) and couldn't leave her friend to that fate.

She made a quick stop at the Room of Requirements, where she browsed for anything remotely useful in the room of holding. The abandoned wands, Ravenclaw's Diadem, and what looked like a perfectly good set of two-way mirrors, she tucked into her newly-expanded book bag. On her way out, she sent an  _incendio_  at the infamous vanishing cabinet, and went on her way.

The boys were very excited to see her, but nothing could prepare her for seeing them again. They stood immediately from their spot in front of the fire in the common room, running over to see her.

"Blimey, Hermione! You look so pale – what happened?" Ron asked, and Hermione's lower lip wobbled dangerously.

Harry seemed to notice something was wrong, for he stepped in before she could answer, "I got Ron up to speed about the… second half of the night. We've been visiting you every day, sorry we weren't there when you woke."

That did it for Hermione, and tears started running down her face. Harry and Ron were standing awkwardly, unsure of what to do, until Hermione said exasperatedly, "Oh go on and hug me already!"

As soon as their arms surrounded her, she lost it. She cried, in the middle of the common room, for Merlin knows how long – for Draco, who was lost to the Veil, for Harry and Ron, who died just as peace was settling in, and for the future. As her wails turned into the occasional sob, she realized she'd have to have a good reason for Hermione to be so upset. Fortunately, it wasn't hard.

"I missed you both," Hermione said quietly.

"We missed you too, 'Mione," said Ron, looking over her head into the concerned eyes of Harry.

She sniffled and, with a wave of her hand, cast a silent  _muffliato_  for the few students in the common room, who were studiously not looking at them. "No, you don't understand. I've missed you all this year. It's been so lonely, going to classes alone and having to hide this from you – you don't know how many times I wanted to tell you about the time turner, but McGonagall made me promise – and when you were around it felt like first year again, before we got along, and—"

"Hermione, it's gonna be ok," Harry said, and hugged her tighter.

"Yeah," Ron bit in, "We're sorry we've been terrible friends this year," he said seriously. Hermione was impressed. Who knew having an emotional breakdown would make Ron so honest? "And we're sorry you had to do the time turner stuff on your own. It'll be different next year. If last week taught us anything, it's that friends should be honest with each other." He paused, and seemed almost taken aback by his own seriousness.

Hermione sniffled once more, but a smile was creeping onto her face. "When did you get so grown up?"

"Erm, Hermione," Harry said tentatively, "we thought you died. You have no idea how terrible it was to see you fall to the ground like that, like..."

"Like I'd finally snapped and just fell dead from the weight of all of my textbooks?" She said teasingly, but Harry and Ron didn't laugh. "Using the time turner requires a lot of concentration. You see, you have to focus on exactly what time you want to go back to, and exactly what moment you need to pop back into the timestream to keep the space-time continuum..." Hermione trailed off, noticing that Ron and Harry's faces started smoothing over into the well-practiced mode of  _let Hermione finish her rant, it's easier this way._

"Really, it just meant that I was too tired by the time I had to re-integrate both myself and Harry into the right moment, and, well… I fell." She finished lamely. "Madam Pomfrey made me promise to use the time turner only for classes this time, so I won't make myself tired by catching a few more hours for studying." She fibbed, realizing she might need the extra hours without the rest of the golden trio tagging along.

She started to pry herself out of their three-way embrace, and they lept back as if they hadn't realized they'd been hugging for so long. She started walking towards the door to the common room, and they followed. It was almost time for the feast, after all.

Ron rolled his eyes, "Only you, Hermione, could consider 'extra study time' a good use of a device that  _sends you back in time._  Merlin, if you hadn't already gone back in time to save Sirius and Buckbeak, I'd think you'd never use it for anything  _actually_  important."

Hermione smiled, saying softly, "I hope I never need to."


	4. Chapter 3 - Reminiscence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione attends the farewell feast and learns some interesting things.

The farewell feast was a bittersweet affair. Hermione was given a surprising number of back pats and hugs, welcome backs and concerned questions. She answered them with aplomb, thanking them for their concern and assuring them that yes, she was quite alright. While Hermione wasn't the most famous student of the generation, like Harry, or an outgoing quiddich fan, like Ron, she had made her share of friends throughout the years (and a few more, as time went on, but they wouldn't know her yet). She nodded to Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones at the Hufflepuff table, who used to study Ancient Runes with her on occasion. She smiled sadly, they had been best friends from the beginning. She would not let something like the Massacre at the Ministry happen again.

She caught Blaise Zabini's eye at the Slytherin table, and he gave her a customary sneer. She knew to look beyond the mask and see his eyes soften; he was actually happy she was alright. Not that he'd ever admit it. Inevitably her eyes wandered to Draco, and she had to keep herself from reacting. She occluded her emotions for all she was worth, looking at him blankly.

Oddly, he held her gaze and looked at her consideringly; not the outright hatred she expected from younger Draco, but a softer, more questioning look. She looked away quickly, unable to maintain it any longer. Draco had taught her occlumency and some gray, borderline dark magic after the Massacre. To focus her mind on other things, she looked up at the head table. Remus had already left in the time she was unconscious, Minerva was looking stern as usual – her face seemed younger than she remembered, and she realized just how much those last seven years (or next seven years) had aged her. Minerva, as usual, sat next to an ever-cheerful Dumbledore. His presence jarred her, reminded her of exactly how long she had gone back in time. This was real, she was here, and she would change everything that had befallen these people.

She gazed along the rows of professors; every single one had a role in the war, and everyone – that survived – had been instrumental in keeping the Resistance alive. She saw Professors Babbling and Sinestra, who gave their lives in the Second Voldemort War; Vector and Flitwick, who had become hardened strategiests for the Resistance, were cheerfully sipping wine and chatting.

Finally, her eyes settled on Snape.

Severus Snape, the dowdy man who had lived a double life for over twenty years, who had acted with questionable morality for as long as she knew him, and who had ultimately sacrificed everything to win the war. She didn't know quite what to make of him, as he scowled down at the Ravenclaw table.

He had chosen the side of the light, in the end, but she didn't know if his heart was in it for the cause or for his own sense of self righteousness. He was downright cruel as a professor, but he had to balance his double life where all the little death-eaters-in-training could see him.

She would have to keep an eye on all of the professors, but especially Severus Snape.

The relationships she had lost with Minerva, Poppy, and Septima would be sorely missed, but she knew it would be worth it.

Harry was quiet for much of the feast, and Ron seemed to notice the pensive atmosphere his friends shared. He may have commented on it, if he hadn't been stuffing increasing amounts of turkey and pudding in his mouth.

All too soon, the feast was ending, and the Gryffindors all trampled up to their common room.

Hermione stayed in her seat, waving the boys on. They seemed concerned, but not willing to push her after her breakdown in the common room (grand displays of emotion seemed to have a desirable affect on them).

Either way, she was unable to stand the huge crowd for too long, and wanted to take the opportunity to do some snooping. The Great Hall was emptying fast, and soon she was alone at the Gryffindor table. A few Hufflepuffs and what looked like the entire graduating class of Slytherin remained. Hermione silently cast a quick listening spell: _Allomoteros_! and directed her attention not to the students, but to the professors.

"Why, Albus, do you insist on letting her keep the Time Turner in the first place?" She heard in the distinctive Scottish burr of Minerva. "And you are the one to send her on that… that-"

"I have my reasons, Minerva." Albus said softly. "It is dangerous, true, but she has shown herself to be marvelous at handling the magic of the Time Turner. Poppy talked to her, and if she does not see signs of fatigue – magical or physical – I see no reason to limit it's use."

"But Albus, she is only fourteen. And what do you mean limit it's use? Surely- "

Dumbledore cut her off. "I have made my decision, Minerva. I have faith that Miss Granger and her time turner will accomplish some remarkable things. Now about that recommendation for a Transfiguration mastery – you said Miss Clearwater and Mr Falkin wanted to apply for apprenticeships?"

Hermione let the spell cancel as the words washed over her. So Dumbledore very much wanted her to have the Time Turner, enough to override his deputy's decision.

Hermione had been approached by Professor McGonagall in her original third year, and she was very quick to advise Hermione to give it up. What about her collapsing after the trip made him change his mind?

Hermione was one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but she wasn't about to stick around for Minerva to try and convince her again. She needed that Time Turner.

She gave one last look at the Great Hall before heading up to the common room. Despite having been unconscious for six days, she needed a good night's sleep. Climbing up Hogwart's familiar passageways made Hermione realize exactly how much she missed being a student. For the next four years, she would have to pretend to be "normal," keeping her true age and past away from everyone. It was almost refreshing. She was no longer seen as a dangerous, mudblood outcast by half the population. The resistance had seen her as a leader, someone to learn from and look up to.

Here, she was just Hermione. All she was expected to do was take classes and learn magic. Everyone knew her as a slightly swottish know-it-all, who they could copy off of in a pinch. The lack of expectation was refreshing, and she was going to take full advantage of it.

She scrambled up the girls staircase, wanting to avoid any other classmates asking why she stayed in the hospital for so long. To her relief, her dormmates didn't ask her either.

"It's good to have you back, Hermione," Lavender said, making eye contact through her vanity's mirror. "I'm really glad you're alright."

Hermione smiled at the girl, trying to hide her slightly morose reminiscing – Lavender had been an excellent spellsmith, before she passed – and replied much more cheerfully.

"Thanks, Lav. I'm going to miss you guys, even though living with you is bad for my self-esteem." She pulled at her hair, self-deprecatingly indicating her lack of style. "I can't match your fashion or makeup skills, and being stuck in bed all week made me awfully pale."

In the future, Lavender was a very dedicated Resistance member, and Hermione had learned how to talk to her in just the right way to talk to the girl. While fashion and appearance were so far down on her list of priorities they may as well be nonexistent, she wanted to connect to her roommates. Her twenty-one year old mind had a much clearer vision of how to accomplish this than her younger self.

Lavender blushed, and said quickly, "Oh Hermione, you're beautiful too – it just gets hidden by your hair sometimes-" And without pause, they went into an intense regimen of magical beauty products. Pavarti added in a few bits of advice, including a few spells Hermione had never heard of. She let herself be a teenage girl for the first time in, well, ever.

"Thanks for all the advice. I wish I had asked you before!" She stuffed the guilt of manipulating the girls behind her occlummency shields. She needed their friendship, both for the upcoming battles and for her own peace of mind in their dormitory. And with the mixture of camaraderie and guilt battling for dominance in her mind, she fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spells Created: "Allomoteros" is adapted from the Ancient Greek word for sound or hear. "Redite Praeterito" is Latin for (roughly) "return us to the past."


	5. Chapter 4 - All Aboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione meets an old friend.

The morning began with a flurry of motion. She opened her eyes to a dark room; two large, yellow orbs staring back at her.

"Miss Hermy is being awake!" Squeaked a weirdly familiar voice. Hearing Lavender stir, she quickly cast a ward of silence around her corner of the dormitory. A house elf stood, crouched over her trunk.

Hermione looked closer at the elf, realizing that she  _did_ recognize the voice. "Dobby?" She gasped. She couldn't believe it. Hermione hadn't forgotten the courage of the little elf, who went back into the house of his abusive masters to save them.

Dobby looked at her in awe. "You is knowing Dobby? Master Harry Potter sir is being very great indeed, to tell Miss Hermy about Dobby!"

Hermione cursed herself. She hadn't met him until their fourth year originally, meaning she couldn't know what Dobby looked like yet.

"Madam Pop is sending Dobby to help with the packing," Dobby said solemnly. With a mental snort, Hermione realized that Madam Pop must be Poppy Pomfrey. If she had still been in the future, she would have had a riot telling Poppy about her new nickname. Hermione forced herself to focus on the little house elf standing in front of her instead of reminiscing about the past.

"Thank you very much, Dobby. I appreciate your help." She said sincerely. To her horror, she saw Dobby start tearing up.

He sniffled, wiping his overly long nose on his Hogwarts-crested pillowcase. "Miss Hermy is a great witch. No wonder Master Harry Potter sir likes Hermy!"

"Say, Dobby," She said consideringly. "Do you like working at Hogwarts?"

Dobby nodded. "Mister Dumbledore is a very great wizard. He is paying me four knuts a month."

Hermione nodded. "Do you like being paid more than working for someone?" She refused to consider it 'servitude.'

"It is good for Dobby," He said nervously, tugging at an ear. "But Dobby wishes he had a real family. Sometimes," Dobby leaned in towards her conspiratorially, "Dobby dreams of Harry Potter sir accepting Dobby as his Elf."

"Aren't you a Hogwarts elf?" Hermione asked, slightly confused.

"Dobby is working at Hoggywarts, Miss Hermy. But Dobby is not tied to it. I am a free elf."

Hermione smiled. While she hated to perpetuate the abuse of house elves in Wizarding society, she had developed quite far beyond S.P.E.W. She learned from Kreature that a house elf was tied to the family magics – that is, the head of the household (Walburga Black, for him) would actually have a magical connection, kind of like a tether, which the house elf could draw magic from.

That was why house elves could apparate despite anti-apparition wards, and they were able to perform honestly astonishing feats of magic. That Dobby was able to handle so much magic without a master was a testament to his own strength.

"Well," Hermione said slowly. "I'm no Harry Potter, but I am Harry Potter's friend. Would you like to work for me?" The possibilities of how much more she could accomplish with a house elf on her side were tremendous.

Dobby's ears perked up, and his eyes widened comically. "Miss Hermy wants Dobby to be her house elf?"

"I'd love to have you as a house elf, Dobby. I'd even pay you four sickles a month. That is, only if you want to."

Dobby threw his arms around Hermione's legs, and she felt even worse about manipulating him than she did Lavender and Pavarti.

"Yes Miss Hermy, I would love to be your house elf."

Wordlessly, she summoned the pillowcase off of her bed, crafting it into a respectable imitation of a toga. "Dobby, do you wish to be my house elf, tied to me and my family, keeper of my secrets, and servant to my will?" She winced at the words, but the union wouldn't work without it.

"I do," Dobby said proudly, and touched the pillowcase. A  _bang!_  shook the room, making Hermione very thankful for the silencing ward, and a string of golden magic threaded it's way from her wand onto Dobby, creating a golden aura around him briefly.

"Wow," said Hermione. She could feel the ghost of a magical bond, almost like a wizard's oath, pulling gently at her magical core. Dobby straightened, and all of a sudden looked much larger and more well-kept than he ever had before.

"Thank you, Mistress Hermione," Dobby said formally.

Hermione shook her head. "Oh, none of that, Dobby. I may have been the one to cast the spell, but we're bound to each other, not just you to me. Just Hermione will do. And I'll have to start teaching you how to read and speak proper English."

Dobby's eyes widened, but a spark had entered them that had been missing before. "Yes M- Hermione. Dobby understands."

"Alright Dobby, thank you. If you like, you can keep working with the Hogwarts elves. I'm afraid I won't have anything for you to do until I get home for the summer."

Dobby nodded, and with a  _snap!_  he was gone.

Exasperatedly, she realized he had not only dusted the entire room, he also packed all her things into her trunk. She shook her head, smiling fondly, and dispelled the silencing ward. Lavender and Pavarti would be waking up soon, and she wanted to get out of there before their frantic packing turned the normally reasonable space into a certifiable tornado.

She ended up wandering the halls, allowing her feet to control her steps more than her mind. With a jolt of recognition, she saw Snape appear at the end of the hallway. "Professor Snape." She said, as respectfully as she could.

"Miss Granger." He said silkily back. She had almost passed him, when he spoke again, "I dearly hope you have no further… incidents, like that of last week." It came out in a sneer, and she remembered how much he hated the Marauders (and Harry, by association).

"Thank you for protecting us, Professor Snape." She said softly. He had, after all, used himself as a human shield against Remus.

"I hardly wish for your  _thanks_ ," he spit the word like a curse, "but for my obligation to every student of this school, I may have acted otherwise." He smirked, and only occlumency kept her blood from boiling. She met his eyes defiantly, and felt the familiar tingle of legilimancy poke at her shields. She could see his surprise, and she cursed mentally. Of all the idiotic things to do, she just  _had_  to stare down the best legilimens of the British Isles.

From Snape's reaction, he had successfully pierced through her first level of defenses and gotten a read on her surface thoughts.  _Bloody Hell_ ,  _this keeps getting better and better._  She thought, and tore her eyes away from Snape's. His expression was dangerously dark, and she took the opportunity to run away to the Great Hall.

_Bloody buggering fuck_ , she thought to herself, barely noticing her surroundings. Before she realized there was a person turning the corner, she was running into them.

"Oh Merlin I'm so sorry," Hermione said quickly, "My fault-"

"Watch where you're going, Granger," an all-too-familiar voice snarled. Draco. She was hoping to be able to avoid the younger Draco for at least the rest of the summer, but luck didn't seem be on her side today.

Hermione picked herself up, brushing off her robes, before she held a hand out. "My apologies, Malfoy," she said smoothly.

Draco eyed the hand with an expression similar to one approaching an angry hippogriff. Slowly, he took the hand, and she hoisted him up.

"Have a good summer, Granger." He said stiffly, ending the most confusing series of events since she returned to the past.

The rest of the morning passed uneventfully, allowing Hermione a bit of alone time before saying goodbye to the old castle. Faster than she expected, they were climbing aboard the Hogwarts Express. Soon enough, the real work would begin.


	6. Chapter 5 - The Hogwarts Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione rides home on the Hogwarts Express.

In all her time at Hogwarts, Hermione had never experienced a train ride she would consider "calm." So it came at a great surprise that nothing dramatic happened on their way home. The world, it seemed, was at peace for now. Draco didn't stop by with his goons, Fred and George didn't set something on fire – the lack of disturbance kept Hermione on her toes more than anything else could.

She sat with Harry and Ron, as usual, and a purring Crookshanks – she missed the ugly bum more than she thought she would. She had sent him with her parents to Australia, and by the time they came back, he had passed away.

She had researched later that kneazles, much like house elves, thrived in magic-rich atmospheres where witches and wizards were present. Something about kneazles allowing themselves to be domesticated. He was curled in her lap snoring, now, but she had to convince him that she was still Hermione before he would get into his travel cage. The process had involved many treats.

Hermione enjoyed the simplicity of sitting on the train with her two best friends, but her mind was only half present. Part of her was anxiously awaiting Pigwidgeon's arrival, and another part nervously considered how she would interact with her parents. Thankfully, they worked pretty consistent, long hours at the dentistry, but she remembered a trip to France that would put a wrench in her plans.

Finally, Pig arrived, crashing unceremoniously into the window. "Bloody 'ell," said Ron obnoxiously, chewing his pumpkin pasty as he spoke. "Wha' is that?"

"It looks like a fluffy snitch," Harry said, opening the window to peer at the bubbly bird.

Hermione cut in quickly, "Oh look, it's got something tied around it, it must be an owl!" She let him land on her outstretched arm and untied the letter from it. She passed it to Harry, and quickly tied her own package around Pig while the boys were focused on the letter.

"Hey mate," Harry said wondrously, "It's from Sirius! And he says the owl's for you!"

"What did he say, Harry?" Hermione asked, finishing the knot on Pig's leg. As she finished it, the twine and the bag disappeared, disillusioned. The package was a shrunken bag, which on arrival would re-expand (totally illegal, but as Hermione was sending it to Sirius, she doubted it would matter). It contained the second hand wands she had taken from the Room of Requirement, one of the two-way mirrors, and a letter explaining her actions.

She had had to think quickly about how to contact Sirius without the boys noticing, and what exactly she could do to help the man. It had been sheer luck that she found the wands and the mirror, and this way, she'd be able to help him stay away from eating rats for meals.

Her plans were tentative at best, and she itched to write everything down and properly plan. She knew that she couldn't, at least not until she was away from Harry and Ron.

They finished reading the letter, and soon broke into a raucous discussion about the upcoming match between the Hollyhead Harpies and the Cannons. She tuned back in when she heard Ron say, "… the Quiddich World Cup this summer! Dad's getting us tickets. We'll probably have some pretty shoddy seats, but it'll be wicked."

Harry agreed earnestly, and Hermione felt the desire to slam her head against the wall repeatedly. How could she have forgotten the Quiddich World Cup? (She knew the answer, that she wasn't expecting to have to deal with it for three years, but cursed herself anyway). That made her think of Winky, and Barty Crouch Jr., and her plans for the summer came rushing back to her.

Before the Quiddich World Cup, during which period she'd be under Molly's motherly surveillance almost 24/7, she needed to find the rest of the horcruxes. The diadem sat in her book bag in an untraceably expanded pocket (once again, very illegal, but the usefulness outweighed the risk,) and she knew the location of three others for certain.

She had a measly year with which to collect all the horcruxes before Voldemort came back. If she didn't, someone would be able to perform the ritual to summon the bits of Voldemort's soul that were left floating around. This bit of information was impossible to have known earlier, for no one had been twisted enough to create multiple horcruxes (or at least, no one had written it down), but a horcrux which was destroyed after the resurrection of the body  _did not_  return to the body itself. It became similar to Voldemort after he lost his body, floating around the world with no tether. One bit of soul, with no one to summon it back, may never regain a body. It was less than a ghost, a sort of wraith that wandered the earth with no way to communicate with the living world.

That is, unless the soul pieces found one another, and someone had the bad judgement to let it possess them.

When Harry, Ron, and Hermione tirelessly destroyed the horcruxes in the original timeline, they weren't killing them – they were releasing them. And bit by bit, those pieces of Voldemort's soul gathered together. What was once the piece of soul in ring, locket, cup, diadem, Harry, and Nagini became the wraith that whispered in Dolhov's ear.

She wished she had a chance to kill Dolhov for his thrice-dammed resurrection of Voldemort at the Ministry, but all she could do was make sure the horcruxes were destroyed before Voldemort regained a body.

The diary was already dealt with, thankfully, but she was going to have her work cut out for her. And all this, before the Trace was removed! She and Draco had expected to have ample time to figure out the Trace problem, and  _then_  go after the horcruxes.

Not to mention, she wanted to help Sirius and Harry, then see if she couldn't track down that nasty rat. One thing was for certain, she would be using the time turner much more than a sane person ever ought to.

"Hermione-  _Mione!"_  she heard distantly and was brought back to the present. "Are you in there?"

Hermione shook herself, "Oh sorry, boys," she said absently. "My mind was elsewhere."

"Right," said Ron smartly, "Well, we're almost at the station, and Harry needs your tellyfone number."

"Oh yes, of course!" Hermione said excitedly. "Why didn't I think of that before?" Quickly, she scribbled down her number, and continued, "I'd be ever so happy to talk – it gets a bit lonely, you know, as my parents are working every day."

Harry nodded. She was sure it was the last thing the Dursleys would let him do, call a friend and "waste time," but she was expecting to help Harry escape the Dursley's before it would really be an issue.

They settled into easy banter, and all too soon they were pulling into Kings Cross Station, and cries of "I'll see you next year!" started permeating the room. "Well, I suppose this is it," Harry said sadly.

"It won't be too long," Ron said, "And if Dad can get the tickets, we'll pick you up in August. And if he can't, we'll pick you up anyway."


	7. Chapter 6 - Framework, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione starts laying out her summer plans, and talks to Sirius.

Hermione’s parents were quite happy to see her. She rushed towards them when she found them on the platform, and they waited with open arms.

“I missed you,” She said simply, and they hugged her strongly.

“It’s good to see you again, dear. Why don’t we get going so you can tell us all about your year?” Jean Granger said, smiling broadly. Her dad, a man of few words, simply nodded his agreement. She looked around the platform one last time before letting her parents pull her away, focusing in on Harry, alone, dragging his trunk and Hedwig towards the barrier.

“One moment, mum. Do you see that boy with the messy hair and glasses?” She pointed towards Harry, and her mother squinted across the platform at him. “That’s my friend Harry. He’s going back to his aunt and uncle’s house again, but this year he told me they used to make him sleep in the cupboard under the stairs.” She said matter-of-factly, but looked up at her mom with big eyes, “How can someone sleep in a cupboard under the stairs?”

Jean Granger looked troubled, sharing a glance with her husband. “Do you have one of those owl-posts to contact him?” She asked quietly, while ushering them towards the barrier.

Hermione shook her head, hair flying wildly around her face. “I’d need an owl to contact him the magical way, but I have his phone number.” Her mother looked surprised at the idea that her friend had a phone number, but quickly moved on.

“So he lives in our world, does he?” She said interestedly.

Hermione nodded. “His parents were… they died, when he was a baby. They were witch and wizard, but his aunt and uncle are normal. Well, they’re not quite _normal_ , but they don’t have magic.”

Her parents could tell she was worried, but she was secretly glad her parents were taking her concerns so seriously. They tended to keep thinking she was a child, even when she had been seventeen and telling them to go into hiding (hence the memory charm).

They crossed the barrier, just in time to see Harry clambering into his uncle’s car. His uncle seemed to be shouting something, then drove away quickly. “We’ll look into it.” Hermione’s dad whispered into her ear, and she gave him a sad smile.

The ride to their little house outside London was a pleasant one, as the topics turned towards interesting things like the latest mishaps at the dentistry, Hermione’s adventures at school (which had been very well abridged to a safe, study-filled school year), and summer plans. Hermione loved her parents, and regretted that she wouldn’t be able to give them as much attention as they deserved. She had more pressing things to think about, like collecting all the horcruxes and saving her friends from their future fates.

As soon as they pulled into the driveway, Hermione begged off socializing for a bit to “unpack” – namely, speaking to Dobby about the summer, and checking if Harry and Ron had sent pig back to Sirius.

She took out her innocent-seeming book bag and pulled out her mirror from the expanded compartment, and a rather worn Homework Planner from her third year – younger Hermione had recorded every single timestamp she had traveled back in time, meaning it had gotten quite a bit of use. Quickly, she scratched out some Arithmancy calculations and nodded to herself. Her hunch was correct, and she knew how to help Sirius.

“Sirius Black,” she said clearly. Lo and behold, he appeared in the mirror, looking rather worse for wear.

“Hermione!” said Sirius happily. “You really are the smartest witch of your age! Where did you find these?”

Hermione blushed, and admitted that she ‘acquired’ them from an abandoned classroom, which seemed to have a lot of forgotten stuff in it. “I’m worried about you, Sirius. I know you can handle yourself, but you’ve got the entire muggle and magical worlds looking for you in Great Britain.”

Sirius nodded seriously. “I’m planning on going somewhere outside Europe. Maybe South America, I’ve heard their magical communities are really welcoming.”

Hermione made a face. Sirius going halfway across the world might keep him safe, but it would be very counter-intuitive to her plans. “I’ve got a better idea.” She said mischievously, which piqued Sirius’s attention more than anything. “You probably didn’t get international news updates in Azkaban,” Sirius snorted his agreement, “But Muggle Germany just went through a bit of an upheaval.

“Basically the entirety of Magical Germany fled to the West and kept going with their lives, but now they’ve started moving back into the East. In other words, no one would question another wizard showing up in what used to be East Berlin. They’d probably be pleased as punch if someone came in and helped the economy move along a bit.”

Sirius grinned. “So they don’t care about a convict from Britain?”

“You’re not a convict, Sirius. Did you ever get a trial?”

Sirius cocked his head thoughtfully. “Y’know, I figured it was because of martial law or some such rot, but no. I didn’t get a trial.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about. Listen, Sirius, I’m not going to be able to help you out that much, but I know your chances are better if you go to Berlin.” Her arithmancy equations told her that much. “I can offer you some help, though. I have recently hired the help of a house elf named Dobby. Call for him, and he can assist you.”

“Hermione, you are a genius.” Sirius said. “Really, I’m very grateful. You know, house elves are useful as hell, especially if yours likes you. Now my mum’s house elf, Kreacher, he was a nasty piece of work.”

A sound like the cracking of a whip reached Hermione through the mirror. It seems Sirius had officially gained custody of Kreacher by this point. “Bloody buggering _fu-_ er, I’ve got to go, Hermione. Thanks for your help.”

Hermione grinned and waved him off. “Talk to you soon Sirius. Remember, go to Berlin.”

She had a good feeling about her summer plans, but there was plenty left to do. Thankfully, she had a time turner for that, so she happily went down to dinner with her parents. After all, she had all the time in the world.


	8. Chapter 7 - Framework, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione settles into a summer routine.

At her parent's house, Hermione's summer quickly settled into a routine. She would wake up, go to breakfast and see her mum and dad off to work, and start working on getting her body battle-ready. Her six stint in the hospital wing was coming to bite her in the arse, as she was already a small, unathletic, bookish girl. Since she couldn't very well disappear all day, in case her parents dropped by or phoned, she had to limit herself to studying and exercising.

Her first order of business on her "first go-round" days was to find a solution to the whole Trace issue. The Trace was a spell placed on school-aged children to keep them from performing spells outside of Hogwarts; however, it had some pretty serious limitations.

First, the Trace only worked in areas without a high concentration of magic. If it recorded every time a spell was cast in Diagon Ally, it would be completely unreadable; this explained how she was able to cast so many spells in Diagon Ally (before her time traveling) including repairing Harry's glasses and lifting books off of high shelves. There was simply too much magic around for a general spell like the Trace to pick up one measly  _Leviosa_  in an environment constructed almost entirely of magic.

Second, the Trace only tracked what it considered "active" magic – that is, not day-to-day magic. Draco had been the one to tell her this, a year ago when they were reminiscing over happier times. Hermione could keep her wand lit with an  _Alohamora_  for hours on end, but the spell is so light that it barely makes a mark on the Ministry's radar.

Even more complex spells, such as a cleaning charm or warming charm, would be dismissed – the magical world simply couldn't imagine life without basic necessities like a warming charm (it helped that they thought the muggle world still functioned off of wood-burning stoves and candlelight).

All of this went out the window, of course, if a muggle was around. Specifically, a muggle who did not (officially) know about the existence of magic. So she could cast cleaning charms around or even on her parents, but it wouldn't trigger an owl from the ministry. If she did the same on her next door neighbor, however, she'd be getting both an owl and a visit from a Ministry Obliviator.

Hermione was quite willing to toe the line of what the Ministry considered "household" magic, but unfortunately household magics wouldn't cut it for defeating Voldemort. So Hermione had to make other plans. For now, she would ask Dobby to apparate her to a magically rich environment, where she could perform any spell without activating the Trace. Once her family left for France, the job became far easier.

Even with all Hermione's research, she wasn't able to find whether the Trace held overseas (and her inability irked her more than anything), but luckily, she was turning sixteen very soon. France's laws on underage magic were quite similar to Great Britain's, with the notable exception of age: Their underage magic laws ended at sixteen, meaning Hermione would be considered a magical adult (despite the fact that she wouldn't reach her magical majority until seventeen).

For now, however, she had to stick to household charms on her first go-round days. Her parents always arrived home to a clean house and supper on the stove, which she was only too happy to provide. She still felt mighty guilty for both obliviating them, and for bringing them back and painting shiny red targets on their backs.

Her first go-round days were filled with family fun and a surprising amount of relaxation – so, a ton of extracurricular reading – that balanced out the craziness of her second go-round days. For the first week, she was certain her second go-round self would be driven insane without the breaks inbetween.

The second go-round was where the magic really happened. She would turn the clock back at around 10 pm (the time she usually prepared for bed) in her closet, for a full 24 hours. She'd then catch some sleep, still in the closet, and wake up at seven.

Hermione on the second go-round had much more exciting days than research and exercise. The first day, she summoned Dobby to her at three-thirty, after her parents left to pick her up from the station (which was quite bizarre in and of itself). Dobby was extremely enthusiastic to help her, as she had actually employed him just that morning.

"Dobby, I want you to know something. And this is a secret, so no telling Harry or anyone." Dobby nodded emphatically.

"I will be keeping your secrets, Miss Hermione! I is your house elf, after all."

Hermione smiled gently. "Thank you, Dobby. That means a lot to me." Yet again, his eyes welled up, and she spoke quickly before he could cry. "I am using a time turner and doubling up on every single day this summer, so instead of three months, it will really be six. I'm technically only fifteen, so I'll need your help to move around and get some things done. I have a mission that I need to complete by the end of the summer."

She made herself pause for a moment, watching Dobby process all of that. He straightened proudly, and she continued, "I have some items that were made by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. They're sorta like the diary from your old masters.

"This is a really important mission, and I'm glad I can trust you with it. We need to do this to keep You-Know-Who from coming back. Otherwise, Harry won't be safe."

"These items threaten Mister Harry Potter sir?" Dobby asked fearfully. "They is like the nasty book?"

"That's right. I need to retrieve them all, and I have to finish this summer. I've also got a few other projects. For now, can you transport me to Diagon Ally? I need to pick up some books."

Dobby had been only too happy to take her to Diagon, and she had been a little trigger happy in buying books, working through much of her pocket money. After the first week in real time, or two weeks Hermione-time, she had exhausted both her monetary resources, and places to go. There was simply no private place in the Wizarding World that Hermione could inhabit without arousing suspicion, and she couldn't be seen that often without people starting to question her.

Not to mention, her closet was getting quite cramped. She needed a safe house, somewhere to sleep on her second go-rounds, somewhere she could leave her more  _edgy_  textbooks, and somewhere for Dobby to live instead of going back to Hogwarts every night. All in all, her safe house had to be in a magically concentrated area, or she would be limited to household spells. In typical Hermione fashion, she started furiously making a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: How do you think Hermione will make money for her safe house? Comment and let me know!


	9. Chapter 8 - Summer Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione finds a safe house.

Hermione hated asking for money, even from her pocket convict or rich best friend. If only Draco were here, she could have asked for three thousand galleons without him batting an eyelash. She could buy a flat in Diagon for herself and Dobby to live in. Without Draco bankrolling the operation, she wouldn't be able to do things so nice and legal. That was fine, she had lived on the wrong side of the law for three years.

Plus, she knew the perfect little place in Wales that would be empty until her seventh year.

It was a little known fact that Wales' Pembrookshire National Park was home to an loosely connected magical community; she had researched this area in her first year, as it was home to the Flamels used to live in. They weren't big enough to call themselves a town, or even a village, for they were spread out along the coastline. There was something of a gathering place on the shore, and it was here that Dobby apparated her to, about a week after her

They arrived at a field, salty wind whipping the overgrown grass. The moment her feet touched the ground, she felt the magic imbued in the area, much like going to Hogsmeade or the Ministry. She couldn't see any houses, though. She blinked, confused, and walked towards the shore. She blinked again, and suddenly a house loomed over her, barely four meters away. "A proximity ward," she breathed. "What a clever piece of magic."

Dobby looked at her with his head tilted to one side, and she explained, "They used a ward that keeps people from seeing their house until they're within four meters. And you can only get four meters away, I'm sure, if you've got enough magic and innocent intentions."

She walked past the house towards the shoreline. She would be working off guesswork for the exact spot. It had been a while since she had visited Shell Cottage, after all.

She stepped over the hill with Dobby in tow, and she was hit with a weird sense of déjà vu. Or perhaps déjà vécu would fit better, as she really  _had_  lived through this moment before. This was the same hill they climbed over to reach Shell Cottage after Dobby apparated them there, almost four years ago. She smiled sadly at the elf beside her and continued onward.

"Here it is, Dobby." She said as the cottage came into view. "Does it look quite like home?" It didn't, it was a bit worn down. But magic could fix that all up, and it would make an excellent safe house.

She cast a quick  _Homonium Revelio_ to make sure it was, in fact, uninhabited. Thankfully, the spell came up blank, assuring her that it was empty.

The hedges were overgrown, the rosebushes were wilting, and ivy almost hid the door from view. It looked as if someone hadn't taken care of it for a few years. If this really was the Flamel's house, she supposed it made sense: after the Stone was destroyed, the Flamel's only had a few months to live.

"Dobby is liking it." He said definitively, and that was all the confirmation she needed. She started circling around it, wand held aloft, casting the same spells she did around the tent their "seventh" year.

 _Salvio Hexia, Protego Totalum, Fianto Duri, Cave Inimicum_ , she thought. She would have to put something more permanent up, later, but this would have to do for now.

Her wand warmed comfortingly in her hand. She was glad to have the chance to stretch her magical muscles, and it seemed her vine wand was happy too. "Alright, Dobby, it should be safe. Why don't you go pick a room, then would you mind helping me clean up a bit?"

At this, Dobby lost it. Wailing in happiness, he managed to get out, "You is giving Dobby a room? Like, like a  _human?_ "

"Like an equal," she said. "I'm going to be doing quite a bit of time travel over the summer, and I'm afraid I have a lot of things to do that you'd be very helpful with. It's the least I can do to give you proper housing."

Dobby looked like he was about to protest. "And don't tell me you don't deserve a real room, Dobby. You're one of the bravest people I know, you're going to take a room and make yourself comfortable, however that is you like. That's an order."

Dobby gave her a bashful grin, then scampered up the stairs as if he was afraid she'd take it back. She grinned at the elf fondly. House elves were incredible beings, and she really couldn't understand why anyone would mistreat them. Then again, humans mistreated humans just as much, Hermione thought darkly.

Her thoughts wandered to Harry, who was surely unhappy at his aunt and uncle's, and to Sirius, who was hopefully settling into his new life in Berlin. She would need his help eventually, but he needed to feel safe and secure somewhere, and hopefully recover from some of the damage the dementors did to him.

Taking a second to survey her surroundings, she set herself to making the main room into something habitable. All the secreted away books that others might be suspicious of were set out on the old table (which needed a few  _Reparos_ before she deemed it sturdy) and started cleaning up.

Before she even got to the kitchen, Dobby was back, and offering to work on anything under the sun for her. He set himself to making the kitchen habitable – a good thing, too, because she was certain she heard something rattling inside the cabinets – and went back to the great room, casting a few cleaning spells here and there. She was exhausted; it had been a magically consuming day, and she was only too happy to accept Dobby's offer of dinner. In hindsight, she didn't quite know where he had gotten the food – Hogwarts, perhaps. Either way, it was nice to have someone else she could speak to, especially someone she could trust to keep her secrets.

The next few days of her second go-rounds were spent making the house habitable. Hermione "Can you read, Dobby?" Hermione asked on a whim.

"Yes, Miss Hermione, I is being able to read. I was in charge of all of the mails and owl orders for Master Malfoy."

"Just Malfoy, now," She said absently, casting a  _sourgify_  on a nasty stain in the carpet. "He's not your master." And speaking of bloody nasty masters, she remembered Pettigrew. He would be looking for Voldemort this summer, and if she was going to have any headway into the Dark Lord's movements this year, she'd need some help.

"Listen, Dobby, I need your help finding someone. He's an animagus, with the form of a fat grey rat. He goes by Wormtail and Peter Pettigrew, and he's one of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's followers. I expect he's heading to Albania soon, to try to revive his master.

"The best way to find him is by following a woman named Bertha Jorkins, who's going on a vacation soon. If you can find him, just watch him and don't let yourself be seen. Do you think you can do that, Dobby?"

Dobby nodded. "Dobby can try, Miss Hermione." Hermione smiled.

"Thank you, Dobby. You're really helping me out." He puffed his chest out proudly. Hopefully, she could find Pettigrew in time, and keep Voldemort from making Nagini into a horcrux. So many little events needed to line up for her to find all the horcruxes, and already two weeks had passed (to her, four weeks). It was time to call Sirius again: she needed that locket.


	10. Chapter 9 - Progression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione talks to Sirius.

"Sirius Black." Hermione called, holding her mirror aloft. It was her first go-through of July 3, and she felt the anxiety of the quickly flying summer closing in on her.

Sirius's distinctly less disheveled face appeared in the mirror. "Guten morgen, Hermione! Wie gehts? Es geht mir gut, und dir?" He fired off quickly, in what Hermione assumed was the most butchered accent German had ever had the misfortune to be represented by.

She shook her head at his antics. "Hey Sirius, you seem a lot better. Berlin is going nicely, I infer?"

"Brilliantly," said Sirius, "you're right, they barely batted an eyelash when I showed up. I've been staying above a nice old pub called Der Zauberschwein. Blokes are nice, they've got a hell of a distrust for government. I don't blame 'em. I wouldn't trust any government past where I could throw 'em."

Hermione nodded her agreement. "I assume you haven't told anyone of your, erm, history?" She asked hesitantly. The last thing she needed was to be cleaning up after Sirius's messes on top of everything else.

"'Course not," Sirius said, "I learned how to lie at my mother's knee. It's hard not to, with a berk like her for a mother…" he trailed off awkwardly.

"Did you sort out that problem you had last time we spoke?" Asked Hermione. She was about to add 'about two months ago,' but realized at the last second it had only been one month for everyone else.

"Ah yeah, I had a bit of a run in with my family's old house elf. Ruddy menace, that one is. And time has only made him worse. He wouldn't do a thing I asked, despite that I'm the last living member of his family."

Hermione picked her next words carefully. "Say, Sirius, where is your house elf? Maybe I can convince him to be a bit nicer to you."

Sirius looked at her dubiously. "He's living at my old family flat in London. But no offence, Hermione, he might listen to you less than he does me. Y'see, my family was a bit more… traditional, and not in a good way. You're a muggleborn, right?" She nodded in confirmation. "Yeah, I'm not opposed to you trying, but he's not likely to respond well at all."

"I'm very convincing." Hermione said, "would you let me try, please?" He still looked uncertain, so she continued, "You can tell him he has to listen to me, first, so at the very least he can't try anything. It's worth a shot."

"What the hell, alright." Sirius threw his hands up in defeat. "I suppose it can't hurt. Kreacher!" He called loudly, and Hermione heard the telltale  _crack_  of apparition. Kreacher grumbled something that one may be able to consider a greeting, before Sirius continued.

"Kreacher, this is Hermione Granger – you are going to visit her, and you're to obey anything she tells you. Understand?"

Kreacher muttered unintelligibly, before looking up at her and scowling nastily. She met his eyes calmly, knowing he would be dancing to a different tune quite soon.

"Do you understand, Kreacher?" Sirius said sharply, and Kreacher nodded. "Thanks for trying to help, Hermione, but honestly, I'm not expecting any miracles. Just send him back to Grimmauld Place when you're sick of him. Kreacher, go."

Hermione heard another  _crack_ , and turned to see a rather dumpy Kreacher standing on her floor, looking like he wanted to spit on it. "I hope I can surprise you, Sirius. Have fun in Berlin." She waved goodbye, and he mirrored the motion before hanging up.

"Hello, Kreacher," Hermione said quietly, "My name is Hermione. It's nice to meet you."

Kreacher stared sullenly back at her without replying, but she pressed on.

"I think you have something at Grimmauld Place, Kreacher. A locket. It belonged to Regulus Black."

That got his attention, and he narrowed his eyes at her. He started muttering, and she caught, "… the Mudblood is not only a blood traitor but also a thief, yes, what a nasty Mudblood it is. Trying to steal from Master Regulus…"

"Kreacher." Hermione said sharply. "I believe Regulus gave you a task concerning that locket, one you haven't been able to keep. Is that correct?"

He stared at her, wide eyed.

"Answer me, Kreacher. Is that correct?"

"Yes." He bit out, unwillingly.

Hermione smirked. "And do you still have the locket?"

He gave her the same curt, "Yes."

"I want to destroy the locket, Kreacher. I know that was your task, and I know why you haven't been able to. I can help you finish your… master Regulus's dying wish. But you have to bring it to me. Can you do that?"

As she spoke, Kreacher's posture changed. A spark she hadn't seen before entered his eyes, and it seemed as if he was much more hopeful; she imagined it had something to do with him getting away from the thrice dammed locket, too.

"You are wanting to help Master Regulus?" He said, seemingly amazed.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I do. But I need you to give me the locket. Will you bring it to me?" She asked carefully. She wanted it to be his decision to give it to her, not just him following orders. He was much more likely to be nice to Sirius, that way.

"I'll bring it." He said, and popped away to do just that.

Hermione let out a hum of satisfaction. There were only two more horcruxes to gather, not including Harry, and this whole mess would be much closer to being finished. Kreacher popped back, holding the locket almost reverently. She held out a hand for it, and saw him hesitate, eyes flashing angrily.

The locket had always been the most active of the horcruxes, at least the ones she dealt with. It probably had some sort of sentience, and that sentience recognized Hermione as a threat. "Kreacher," she said slowly. "Give me the locket."

With extreme reluctance, he held it out to her. His bony arm was shaking, and he screwed his face up in what looked like pain. She grabbed it, and none too gently yanked it from Kreacher's grasp.

Quickly, Hermione stuffed the locket in a lead- and salt-lined box she had prepared especially for this occasion, and the tense atmosphere all but vanished. Kreacher looked like a huge weight had been taken off of his shoulders, and perhaps it had been. Hermione was equally relieved: one more horcrux in her possession meant one less thing to check off of her never-ending to-do list.

"Thank you for the locket, Kreacher. I promise you, it'll be destroyed before summer's up." And then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "Oh, and if you could, please be a bit nicer to Sirius. I doubt he told you, but he just escaped from Azkaban. He's had enough negativity to last several lifetimes. Do you think you'll be able to do that, Kreacher?"

The elf nodded. "For you, Mistress Hermione. You have avenged my Master Regulus."

"Thank you, Kreacher. I think Sirius would be very happy to know how brave Regulus was. You should consider telling him. Unless he asks you directly, though, please leave me out of it."

"Kreacher will." He said, much more politely than he had ever spoken to her before.

Hermione smiled at him kindly. "Then that's all I needed. Thank you for all your help, Kreacher. You've made the world better, and fulfilled Regulus's wishes today."

Without another word, Kreacher popped away. The  _Crack!_  echoed through her house, and she was thankful that it was empty. She felt guilty about lying to Sirius, but all the guilt she had been feeling for manipulating her friends and peers was quickly fading to the back of her mind.

She thought about Dumbledore briefly, and his whole 'greater good' – it wasn't as if she was ruining other's lives with her manipulations; in fact, she was helping them all more than anything. But the niggling reminder that the 'path to hell was paved with good intentions' haunted her. Not for the first time, she wished she had Draco with her.

He had been a grudging ally, at first, someone she worked with towards a common goal, but not from any desire to interact. Eventually, however, they became more than that. They were friends, allies, partners: they ran the resistance meetings, taught their allies to protect themselves, and confided in one another. The image came to her mind, unbidden, of his unseeing eyes as he lay across the Veil of Death.

Even if they landed three years late and had to scramble as she was doing, at least she wouldn't be at it alone. Sure, she had plenty of help from Dobby and now Kreacher, but she had no confidant: no one to share her theories and fears with, to bounce ideas off of, to laugh and cry with.

Shaking off her maudlin thoughts, Hermione began to prepare for another go-round. She carefully took out her notebook – charmed to look like a copy of  _Hogwarts: A History –_  and scribbled down:

July 3: 10 PM, travelling back 24 hours. Running total of extra time – 12 months, 3 days.

With a jolt, she realized that her combined travelling had earned her another full year to her life. Instead of turning fifteen in the fall, she would be sixteen – and if she kept traveling as much as she had, it would be on the fifth of August. Barely a month away.

She didn't regret her actions, nor did she miss her childhood – after all, her mind was twenty-one, and she hadn't been a kid in a long time. It would all be worth it, when they could defeat Voldemort. Then, she could think about relaxing.


	11. Chapter 10 - Arithmancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione makes some calculations and some decisions.

Arithmancy was Hermione's favorite subject, and for good reason. It functioned off of logic, not feelings or 'auras,' and most of all would work whether or not she had someone to bounce her ideas off of. From an academic perspective, it was fantastically satisfying. But most of all, it had almost foolproof answers to any problem you could pose to it.

The variables were like math, or science; you created stable elements of the equation and balanced them with the unknown variable. Through tweaking one known variable at a time, it was possible to figure out the statistical likelihood of the unknown variable.

She had worked on this at the beginning of the summer, balancing Sirius's convict status, his emotional attachment to Harry, his hatred of Pettigrew, and his self-preservation against his odds of survival and location. She used the South America model as a control, because that's where Sirius went in the original timeline. He had a 99.9% chance of survival in South America – as close to 100% as you could get, when playing with the future – but she knew he'd never been happy there.

So she had to run the numbers, and figured out that his odds in Britain (45%) and France (53%) were just too low for comfort. Germany, on the other hand, was at a happy 89%, and she found if she sent him to eastern Berlin, and nowhere else, that percentage raised to 99%.

In the resistance, she and Septima had run countless equations just like this one, although they were often more convoluted and took up much more parchment. Arithmancy, thankfully, counted as passive magic, so Hermione could complete the equations during her research days. She still did much of the cooking and cleaning in the house, which she knew made her parents happy. She had been hoping to get their help with the whole Harry situation, maybe moving him out of the Dursley's care legally or at least taking him in for part of the summer, but her arithmancy equations were frustratingly low (22%).

This equation was a tougher one: Harry was at the center of many variables she counted as facts, since they had really already happened. This meant that she had to measure the likelihood that an event would go well, and that the circumstances would stay the same for long enough. After triple-checking the three pages of messy notes, she confirmed that her calculations were right: Harry had to stay at the Dursleys for at least six weeks this summer, or he wouldn't survive Voldemort's resurrection.

Afterwards, he was safe to go wherever he chose for the summer, but that decision would cause its own ripple effects. She loved Harry like a brother, and truly loathed the idea that he was stuck at the Dursley's for so long, but she had to trust the equations. Plus, there was only one more week (non-Hermione time) between now and then. She wanted to help him live with Sirius before the Quiddich World Cup, and so she started yet another arithmancy equation.

Sirius was living in Berlin, meaning she would have to coordinate Harry traveling from the Dursley's to Berlin and then back again before the Weasley's picked him up for the Cup. Hermione was hesitant to let the Weasley's know that Harry was living with Sirius – they were quite close to Dumbledore, and she was certain Dumbledore would have strong opinions about where Harry should go.

Dumbledore definitely had his heart in the right place, but he simply didn't know what the future held. She didn't know how he would react, and so she avoided the whole issue. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Plus, she wasn't convinced he didn't want Harry to stay at the Dursley's out of some messed up psychological theory; Hermione had a different idea. Firstly, Dumbledore didn't know enough about Harry's home life to judge whether or not he should be rescued – as far as she knew, Harry was incredibly tight-lipped. She had only gotten the full extent of the Dursley's abusive behavior after many drinks, and that was a year after he last lived with them.

No, Hermione wanted Harry to be trained. He always had the potential for greatness, but unfortunately Ron's lackluster approach to schooling made Harry slack a bit too much to be a serious threat. And she couldn't do it herself; the last thing Harry knew was her running away from a boggart in her Defence Against the Dark Arts final. She simply didn't have the credibility.

Sirius was the perfect choice, then. Not only did he live in Germany (where the underage magic law was even lower – fourteen!) but she also knew how much Harry loved Sirius and visa versa. They never had a chance to really get to know one another, and Harry deserved someone who would be a parental figure. And Sirius would treat him like Just Harry, the person he always wanted to be. Not the Boy-Who-Lived, not the Chosen One, but a kid who needed a little more love in his life.

Hermione shook herself away from her musings – she needed to act. She had done quite enough thinking already. Just then, the mirror buzzed. Sirius was calling.

She picked up the mirror, "Hey Sirius, how are you doing?"

"Hermione! I don't know what you did, but Kreacher is amazingly better than before. I can't believe it! He actually made me lunch without trying to poison me today, and I didn't even ask for it."

"That's brilliant! I'm glad I could talk some sense into him." She smiled. "By the way, I was wondering how you'd feel about having Harry stay with you. He really hates his aunt and uncle, and now that you've got a place…"

"Bloody hell, yeah I'd have him!" He said happily. "I wasn't sure whether I'd be able to, you know, after the rat escaped." He ran a hand through his long hair. "Do you really think he'd want to stay with me? I mean, he barely knows me."

Hermione reassured him, "trust me, Sirius. Even if he didn't like having you as a godfather, he would do absolutely anything to get away from the Dursleys."

"You're a great friend to him, Hermione. And to me."

"I know he would do the same for me." She said simply. "Although I do have one request," she hedged, waiting to see his reaction.

"You've helped me out plenty, Hermione. What do you need?"

"Could you teach Harry some Defense? He's always getting himself into trouble. And I swear Professor Snape can read minds…" she said, which started a whole new slew of questions.

"Snape? You mean Severus Snape? The sniveling, slimy snake that always followed Harry's mum around?"

"I assume the same. He's the head of Slytherin, and the Potions Professor. He seems to really hate Harry for some reason."

Sirius was fuming. "Oh I'll teach Harry how to deal with the git. I can't believe they ever let him be a professor, he was a right tosser."

Hermione pursed her lips, but didn't say anything. From what she'd heard, Sirius was a right tosser at Hogwarts. She didn't need Sirius knowing she thought so, however, so she continued, "I can ask Dobby to take him to you – Dobby loves Harry. I'll give him a few days to pack and all, but I know he'll be pleased to see you."

* * *

AN: Happy mothers day, to all the moms out there! And a thank you to everyone who reviewed. I know I'm falling behind on responding to reviews; I'm so wowed by the response! I'll get around to replying, I promise. A lot of people have been giving me suggestions on what to do next: you're welcome to suggest/guess what will happen, but I've got a pretty solid plan for at least the rest of the summer - there's a lot of exciting stuff coming up! Look forward to some Slytherins entering the game.

As a response to guest commenters, MiRug and Ania: thanks for your support! I'd be happy to respond to you and discuss your theories, but I don't want to distract from the story - if you're logged in, I'll definitely try to reply to your comment.


	12. Chapter 11 - Setbacks and Ethics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione contemplates some challenges to her summer.

Hermione decided to send Dobby to Harry, and leave herself mostly out of the whole process. She wasn’t that concerned, knowing how excited Harry would be to escape No. 4, and how happy Sirius would be to see his godson. Dobby, naturally, was over the moon to go visit “the Great Harry Potter sir,” and said he could transport him from Surrey to Berlin.

Hermione had noticed a great change in Dobby since adopting him. They were still linked by that small, gentle strand of golden magic, and occasionally she felt a slight pull on it. The first time he apparated to Albania to find Bertha Jorkins, it had taken a big toll from her own magical reserves. If she had been trying to cast a high energy spell, like an unforgivable or a complex transfiguration, she was certain she would have failed.

But every time he took as large a jump as that, it became less and less strenuous on her. She wasn’t sure if it was their magical bond itself that was strengthening, or if Dobby was growing in strength through their bond, but she was certain he would soon be able to perform more complex feats of magic.

She had also noticed him becoming more poised over time, standing straighter and speaking more directly – almost as if he was copying her habits. He was taller, more well-nourished, and far cleaner than he used to be. She hated to say it, but it seemed as if being bonded to her helped him more than freedom ever had (although she would not stop paying him, even if he took her last knut. That was slave labor, and she felt just as strongly about it as she had in her fourth year).

He seemed to enjoy getting such important tasks, too. Helping Harry and defeating Voldemort sat pretty high on his list of priorities, and over all she was happy their relationship was turning out so mutually beneficial.

Hermione felt pretty decent about her progress during the summer, but she would have the brand new challenge of her family going on holiday to France. She loved her parents, and while she knew the work she was doing was essential, she wasn’t willing to split away from them for the scant few months she got to see them. She was heartened by the fact that they were incredibly good people. Hermione’s mother, Jane, recently proved the fact over breakfast one morning.

“Hermione, dear,” Jane said after washing down a bit of bacon with coffee, “How is your friend Harry fairing? Not as badly as you feared, I hope.”

Hermione shook her head. “They’re still not the nicest people in the world, but thankfully Harry won’t be living with them all summer. He’s going to stay with his godfather.”

Jane smiled in relief. “That’s certainly better. Why hasn’t this godfather been able to care for him before?”

Already, Hermione knew she said too much. “Erm, he has a sort of joint custody agreement with them, but since he’s a pureblood – he doesn’t have any non-magical family members – he can’t legally have custody.” Hermione spun the story quickly. She’d gotten quite good at fudging the truth for her parents. Half the things were too dangerous to share, like her almost being clobbered by a mountain troll, or too confusing, like her reasoning for having gone to the Ministry of Magic in her fifth year.

“Well that does sound unfortunate. As long as he’s not being stuck in cupboards anymore, it doesn’t sound like an urgent situation, but it also doesn’t sound like the best home environment. If you hear anything else from your friend, please let us know. We’re the adults, after all. We’re meant to be dealing with such things.”

Hermione nodded obediently, promising to report anything out of the ordinary. Privately, she was sure her mum was relieved to have Hermione bring her these troubles – as the years wore on, she found it more and more difficult to share her struggles with her parents. Now she had a chance to avoid that.

It was with this conversation fresh in her mind that Hermione travelled with her parents to Rouen, France, where the Granger’s summer cottage was located. They had only just built it a few years ago, when Hermione went off to Hogwarts. It still looked quite new, with a few vines growing up the sides; the whole area had the feel of a fairy tale.

They would be in France until the end of July, when Hermione joined the Weasley’s and Harry for the Quiddich World Cup. This meant Hermione had less and less time to procure the cup and the ring and the cup. She hoped to wait until she reached her majority to get the ring, knowing the complex charms around it. But it seemed that she wouldn’t hit her majority unless she lived every day in the month of July 12 times instead of one – she wasn’t even certain if it was possible to push the Time Turner that far, or if she could stay sane while doing so.

This put her in a bind. She was one of the only witches in Great Britain who could cast the necessary counter curses and occlude enough to keep herself safe from the ring (a feat not even Dumbledore could accomplish) and for all of Dobby’s skills, she didn’t want to damn his life over some nasty curse he would be subject to.

This put her in a bit of a pickle, however. Her morals wouldn’t let her reach the locket this way, and her desire to stay under the radar (and out of Azkaban) kept her from screwing the rules and letting the Trace track her spellcasting at the Gaunt house. There was no way she would get to the ring, then, before the summer was up. In fact, if she doubled every single day consistently, she wouldn’t be a magical adult until January ninth of the following year.

She needed an adult if she wanted to finish the job this summer, or with any backup at all. Hermione was at a loss, however, to finding a suitable partner for the job. She could count the number of candidates on two hands, and the number she could trust on just one.

She supposed waiting until she was an adult wasn’t the hugest setback. She had until the end of their fourth year to destroy the horcruxes, and at least she knew where this one was, and how to defeat it (more or less). Hufflepuff’s cup, however, was a whole different story. The debacle at Gringotts was one mistake after another, relying on very specific circumstances and almost a month of planning. She couldn’t recreate that if she wanted to.

What was worse, she wasn’t even sure if the cup was in the vault. If Voldemort hadn’t given Bellatrix the cup before his downfall, and she subsequently put it in her vault, she was at ground zero. She had no idea how to find the cup, what the protections around it could be, or what she would need to take it.

Hermione’s mind itched to write out the Arithmancy equations, but she knew she couldn’t rely on them too heavily. Statistics could only get one so far, after all.

The clock hit 9:50, and Hermione knew it was time to ready herself to turn back for her second day. Dobby would be arriving any second, and she wanted to ask him about how Harry settled into Berlin.

With a _crack!_ Dobby arrived at Hermione’s room in Rouen.

“Dobby! It’s lovely to see you.”

“Hello, Miss Hermione. How are you doing?” He asked happily.

Hermione grimaced, “I’m afraid I’ve been up to far too much plotting recently. Trying to sort through all my summer plans. But enough of that, how are you? Did you get the chance to send Harry to Berlin?”

Dobby nodded proudly. “Mister Harry Potter sir is in Berlin with his Snuffy.” Hermione took a moment that Snuffy must be Sirius. “He was very pleased to be away from his Dursleys, and loves his Snuffy very much.”

“Wonderful. Have you had a chance to follow Bertha Jorkins?”

Dobby’s ears drooped sadly. “No, Miss Hermione. I couldn’t find the ministry lady, but I will keep looking for her.”

“If you find Pettigrew or Voldemort, don’t worry about Jorkins.” Hermione added thoughtfully. It mustn’t be easy to find a singular woman in a foreign country – probably much like finding a needle in a haystack – but she _had_ to make sure Voldemort didn’t make any more horcruxes before the end of fourth year. She figured if she could keep any muggles away from them, Voldemort would have no one to kill to create a horcrux. Nagini would be one less thorn in her side for the next year.

“Dobby will keep his eyes out.” He said. Hermione thanked him, and then it was time to turn the clock backwards. There would be plenty of time to research at Shell Cottage.


	13. Chapter 12 - Horcruxes and Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione takes action concerning some horcruxes.

The month of July passed incredibly quickly, even though Hermione was doubling every day. To her despair, the conundrums of the ring and the cup weren't yet solved, even after all of her long hours of research – Magical France had some lovely public libraries, a quality she wished could have carried over to Britain – and she had only just hit the age of sixteen, the magical majority in France, so she had to wait until now to enact her plan with the two horcruxes she  _did_ have.

Hermione had cut her losses and decided to use fiendfyre on her two hostage soul pieces, both because she would have a better chance of avoiding detection in France, and that she was simply too impatient to wait until she had all four to destroy them. Not to mention, she could apparate  _herself_  there, instead of relying on the uncomfortable feeling of side-along apparition.

If her Arithmancy calculations were correct, she would have an 88% chance of destroying the horcruxes without destroying anything else around her. She had chosen an empty field and warded it against everything barring single celled organisms. The chances here were much better than her family's summer cottage (a depressing 45%) and incredibly better than at Shell Cottage (an even more disturbing 16%). She was almost hoping she missed something in the equations, skewing the numbers to be far lower than she'd like, but had double-checked her work far too many times for that to be the truth.

She had planned the same operation for the other two horcruxes as well, and it had the side effect of not letting anything containing matter  _out_  of the circle as well. Hopefully this would stop the fiendfyre, if her will wasn't strong enough to control it.

The most dangerous element of fiendfyre was the amount of magical, emotional, and mental control it required. It demanded the caster have a concentrated desire to destroy something around it, to obliterate it into a thousand particles. Once cast, though, fiendfyre became a physical representation of the emotions that created it. It didn't take a genius to feel strongly enough to create those emotions and cast the spell, but it  _did_ take a lot of mental willpower to turn right around and control those emotions after feeling them.

Fortunately, Hermione was an accomplished occlumens, and a skilled spellcaster to boot. She had read myriads of accounts describing the process of fiendfyre, the pain that casters went through after their spell had gone wild, and had determined it was worth the risk and the potential sacrifice.

And so, standing in a lovely green field in the hills of rural France, surrounded by some of the toughest wards the world had ever seen, Hermione placed the diadem and locket on a "borrowed" stone table.

She thought about the pain and suffering Voldemort had caused; the personal sacrifice she and all the resistance members had gone through, and the lengths she had and would go to in order to  _eviscerate_  the demononic man who had caused it.

 _"_ _Thuete Maxima!"_  She bellowed, speaking her spell for the first time in months. And her ugly emotions took a beautiful yet uglier form, twisting and growing and feeding off one another in a terrible orange light – Hermione was caught up in it for just a second, blood rushing and heart beating, hating right along with the mass of fire that looked like some winged monstrosity. Let it burn, let it destroy, she thought.

And all of a sudden, it was growing beyond just the table and towards her. It wanted to destroy her, too, and burn her into cinders like the diadem and the locket, on the table. For one, disastrous moment, Hermione let it grow closer and closer to her. The thing was less than a foot away from her before she came to her senses.

"No!" She screamed, and willed the mass downward, stifling it. It fought, hissing and spurting like some wild thing, but she was stronger. Hermione snarled and spat right back at it, siphoning it away with her wand like she was holding a sword, and as soon as she jabbed at it, she knew she had won – the longer she focused on it, the smaller it got, like it was slowly eating itself instead of feeding on the world around it. It got smaller and smaller, until it was more of a pitiful fluttering light than a monstrous flame, and Hermione slumped in on herself, exhausted.

She breathed heavily, closing her eyes to help herself calm down. She peeked at the – now blackened – stone table, and to her relief there was nothing but ash atop it. But to her astonishment, she saw something stirring in it.

Something black and dirty emerged from the piles, and in front of her eyes seemed to grow in size and density. Hermione was frozen, horrified, as the two black blobs became large enough to run into one another, and suddenly merged into a swirling mass. Before Hermione realized what was happening, the mass noticed her presence and began to rush towards her. She jumped into action, immediately bringing her wand up to cast the strongest shield in her arsenal.

It slammed into the shield like a ton of bricks, spreading out to ooze towards the extent of her shield. Narrowing her eyes, Hermione stabbed her wand outwards, pushing the shield farther and sending the black mass careening backwards. She panted heavily. Her young magical core didn't have a lot more stamina for fighting this black mass – she realized, in the scant moments she had before it gathered into a mostly opaque blob once more, she was fighting the wraith-like soul of Voldemort.

Cutting her losses, she dissipated the wards around her, and apparated away.

There was no way she knew to defeat a wraith like that, and the last thing she wanted was to go through a battle of wills with an angry spirit that wanted to possess her.

Back in the privacy of her bedroom in Rouen, freshly decorated with more wards than most people would cast in their lifetime, Hermione allowed herself to reflect on what had happened.

She had seen firsthand the way Voldemort's spirit emerged from the ashes of his horcruxes, like some sort of demented phoenix. Interestingly, she hadn't seen this happen before, even when she destroyed Hufflepuff's cup. She supposed that the two waifs seemed to be fairly innocuous before they merged together. Hermione wondered how much of Voldemort's soul was now out in the world. Of course, she knew the rest of his soul would eventually have to join as a spirit, or the whole effort would be for naught. She wished it could be as simple as Voldemort becoming a ghost, or deciding at the last minute to just bugger off to hell already. Unfortunately, life was never so easy.

Another part of Hermione feared what would have happened if she had actually destroyed all four horcruxes at once. Would her magic have been strong enough to defeat all four parts of Voldemort's soul together? She had almost lost, today, and that would have been catastrophic on so many levels. If just a portion of Voldemort's wraith was enough to give her a run for her money, what hope did she have of defeating the dark lord with a whole soul?

Hermione collapsed on her bed; after a crazy day like today, she deserved a rest. So it was only natural that her two-way mirror chose that moment to ring. She groaned, but stood up from her bed to answer.

"Hello Sirius," she said, picking up the mirror. Sirius looked like Hermione felt, and had a look in his eyes that was more fearful than anything she had seen from him. "Is everything ok?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger. I couldn't help myself! As always, thanks for the interest and reviews.
> 
> I have made a few decisions in this chapter that I thought it prudent to justify. One, there is no magical significance to reaching your majority. I know it's a common trope in the fanfiction world (in fact, one of my all-time favorites, The Problem with Purity, uses the magical majority as a main plot point). Since there's no reference to it in canon, I will happily not use that idea for my story. Second, I'm treating magic like a muscle to be trained – Hermione isn't as strong as she would've been with her 21-year-old body, because her sixteen-year-old self hasn't trained as intensively with her magic. Therefore, she's a fair bit weaker than she was in the future.
> 
> Also, if anyone would be willing to beta read for me, I'd be very happy to get some help cleaning up my earlier chapters. I don't think there's a lot of grammatical errors, but I'm sure my phrasing could use some help. PM me if you're interested!
> 
> Spells created: "Thuo Maxima" is a bastardization of Ancient Greek and Latin, using "Thuo," the word for sacrifice in greek, and "Maxima" as the typical Latin superlative in HP spells. Together, it says "I sacrifice the most," which I'm using very creatively to imply the personal sacrifice it takes to cast it (like creating an inferus in Time to Spare) and the subsequent maximum destruction of whatever the caster uses it on (and potentially themselves, like Crabbe in book 7).


	14. Chapter 13 - Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione speaks to Sirius.

Hermione's hand on the mirror was shaky. She was still reeling from the effort of deflecting Voldemort's spirit, and she was in dire need of sleep. Something told her she wouldn't be getting it, not for a long time. Sirius spoke quickly. "Hermione, it's been hours! I've been trying to contact you since this morning – No, everything's not okay! I don't know how to help my own godson cause he's having dreams about fucking Voldemort."

"What do you mean, Sirius? What happened?" Hermione asked quickly. If Harry was dreaming about Voldemort, and nothing had changed, then he would have just killed the Riddle's gardener, and her chances of avoiding Nagini were nil. She wished Dobby had been able to find them, but unfortunately Voldemort recognized the power of house elves all too well. He'd probably warded against them.

Sirius continued, panicked. "He dreamt of the ruddy Dark Lord! In the flesh! Well, not in the flesh, but alive enough to murder some innocent muggle."

Hermione winced. There went her chances of avoiding Nagini. If he was already at Riddle Manor, she was as good as a horcrux.

"So he's not dead." She said, rather than asked. She knew the answer.

Sirius raked a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to think. Harry said his scar hurt, and he was screaming bloody murder until I could get him to wake up. Then all he said was 'he's getting stronger, Sirius, I saw him' – Harry was distraught. He said he heard Voldemort talking about how he was growing in strength. But it's gotta be just a nightmare, right? Voldemort's dead."

"He's not dead, Sirius. I wish he was, but he's not." She said definitively. "Harry met him, our first year. He was possessing the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Sirius's eyes widened in shock. "This kid clearly hasn't been telling me how wild his school life is. But how is that monster still alive? All the papers talk about how Harry vanquished him."

"Vanquished, not defeated, unfortunately." Hermione grimaced. She picked her words carefully. She wanted Sirius to understand the truth, but he couldn't know her certainty. "Some people thought he was dead, really most people did, but they're wrong. He found some sort of way to hold onto life. Voldemort's soul was separated from his body when he tried to kill Harry, then he became a spirit, capable of possessing people. With what you've told me, he might have gained enough strength to be a threat again."

Actually, this was a lot more worrying to Hermione for other reasons, so she didn't have to fake her horror. Through the mirror, she saw a matching expression on Sirius's face. She hadn't been the one to tell him about Voldemort last time, so she couldn't guess at his reaction. It couldn't be enjoyable to find out that the man who killed your best friends, divided your family, and caused your twelve-year imprisonment was back in action, or nearly so.

"Bloody hell." Sirius said under his breath. "What are we going to do?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "We need to make sure we're ready for him, if he comes back. And we need to keep an eye out for anyone who wants to harm Harry. I can't imagine Voldemort has much else on his mind besides revenge right now." Something caused her to continue talking, either in a fit of madness or genius, she wasn't yet sure.

"Sirius, do you know anything about souls? How someone could keep themselves alive even after being killed?"

"There's a few things I've heard of, growing up. It's dark stuff though Hermione. A lot of them are the blackest sorts of magic you can think of."

"I know," Hermione said. "I've read about them. I think Voldemort's done something terribly dark, Sirius, and that's how he's been able to survive. How much do you know about Horcruxes?"

She realized that it was probably a stretch for a thirty-two-year-old man to believe a (seemingly) fifteen-year-old about soul magic performed by the biggest dark lord of the century, but he seemed to accept this possibility easily. "I wouldn't put it past him. I wish I could, but it sounds like something the evil bugger would do."

Hermione frowned. "I'm gonna do some more research. That's all we can do right now."

"That sounds like the Hermione that Harry's told me about. I bet you and Remus get along famously." He grinned, lightening the atmosphere considerably. "Er, Professor Lupin, you know."

She smiled. "I think a lot of professors appreciate my diligence, and I'm equally aware that a lot of students consider it swottishness. I think the first thing Professor Snape ever said to me was 'you insufferable know-it-all,' so I'm quite used to it. Anyway, Sirius, I've had a long day. It looks like you have too. Stay safe, alright? And enjoy the time you have with Harry. We'll be going to the Cup soon."

Sirius frowned. "I wish I could go to that. D'you think there's any way we can sneak me in?"

Hermione snorted. "Unless you have a bucket load of Polyjuice on hand, I doubt it. Sorry Sirius. If you like, I can send you a pensive memory of it. At least that way my ticket will pay for someone enjoying the match."

"Better than nothing. Even my mates here are talking about going, and Harry's getting really excited. Did you know your tickets are for the top box, with the Weasleys?"

"That must've costed a fortune!" Hermione exclaimed, feigning disbelief. "Well I am sorry that you won't get much more time with Harry. Have you had fun?"

"Oh yeah. It's been great to be free. I hardly have to watch my back here, and Harry's happy that no one seems to recognize him." He smiled a real, eye-crinkling grin. "Thank you for doing this. I don't think Harry realizes how much you've looked out for us this summer, but he's lucky to have a friend like you."

"Goodnight, Sirius." Hermione said, returning his smile. There was nothing else to say.

Unfortunately, all the good she had done for Harry and Sirius didn't lighten the rest of the load. She didn't want to leave Harry alone at the Quiddich World Cup, but she also had two more horcruxes to find. Perhaps she could utilize Sirius for one of them, but she couldn't yet clear his name.

No, Pettigrew had to stay with Voldemort until he regained a body. It was a sore point in her and Draco's discussions, that they had to keep the timeline similar enough to be reasonably certain there would be no surprises. That left Sirius a fugitive, and Pettigrew free to help Voldemort. It was simply too good an advantage to lose, knowing how the future would unfold. Hermione briefly remembered a conversation with Draco, where they consoled themselves by the fact that they'd be together. They wouldn't have the entire weight of the world on their shoulders alone.

Hermione frowned. She was far more alone than she had hoped. Getting help from Dobby, and now potentially Sirius, was good, but it was no comparison to someone who really knew what she had gone through. Her eyes filled with tears at the reminder of his loss. She kept seeing the image of his body in the veil. What a stupid mistake, what an idiotic way to die! To think, they'd gone through three years of almost constant gurella warfare just to die after tripping.

Hermione wiped the tears from her eyes angrily. Crying wouldn't help anybody, and she still had work to do. Her family was going back from vacation, and she had mere days before her freedom was restricted by the Weasleys.

Her first order of business was to call Dobby off – if she had already failed to stop Voldemort from creating Nagini as his seventh horcrux, there were better things for him to do than trapiese all over Europe, searching for a man who couldn't be found.

"Dobby!" She said, and mere seconds later he popped in front of her. "It's good to see you, Dobby. I just wanted to let you know we don't need to look for Bertha Jorkins or Peter Pettigrew anymore."

Dobby nodded. "It is good to see you too, Miss Hermione. Dobby can stop looking for Jorkey. You is looking tired today, Hermione. Have you slept since I saw you?"

Hermione shook her head. For a moment, Dobby looked much like an over-protective mother, and she felt a little guilty. "No, I didn't have time. I had to… get something over with."

"You used the evil fire." He said, eyes wide.

She looked up, surprised. "Yes, I used fiendfyre. How did you know?"

"Dobby can feel it, Miss Hermione. Dobby feels all the magic you is doing. I only know the evil fire from former master Malfoy." Hermione was stunned. House elves never ceased to amaze her.

She felt the need to explain herself, to differentiate herself from Lucius Malfoy. "Fiendfyre is one of the only ways to destroy a horcrux, Dobby. One of the evil objects that Voldemort created. It's not a very nice spell, but horcruxes aren't very nice either."

"Dobby does not judge, Miss Hermione. Dobby knows you are a good and brave witch, and that you is helping Mister Harry Potter sir. But Dobby also knows that you needs to sleep," he reprimanded her. "Dobby will stop bringing you to Shell Cottage if you doesn't take care of yourself."

Hermione smiled despite herself. "I'll make sure to sleep, Dobby. This was an exception."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. But she kept inexplicably yawning, and the glint in Dobby's eyes was suspicious.

Dobby said quietly, "It is for your own good, Miss Hermione, that I is putting you to sleep." He snapped his fingers, and Hermione knew no more.


	15. Chapter 14 - Travel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is reunited with her friends.

The week before the Quiddich World Cup was one of Hermione's more bizzare. For once, nothing went particularly wrong, and she was able to relax. It was, by far, the most well-rested week of her life, as Dobby consistently made sure she slept eight hours for every go-round. She loved the house elf, she really did, and his actions were honestly quite good for the future of house elf rights – but she had to get work done.

The search for the horcruxes, coordinating Harry and Sirius, and working for Dobby took up the majority of her second go-rounds. The rest of her free time was spent in research, keeping up a steady correspondence with schoolmates, and brewing quite a few potions. One of these was a Level Five Ministry Restricted Substance, the Thanalos potion, which was a high-performance potion she wouldn't be surprised if she had to use in the upcoming months. Despite the extreme number of morally gray, uncharacteristic, or flat out illegal items in her trusty book bag, she was quite unconcerned about detection.

Her general reputation as an overachiever would forgive her for many of the changes to her bag – like the expanded pocket – and she had a few surprises for anyone who managed to find that pocket itself.

She was shocked when she came to the realization that she hadn't yet finished her summer work – hadn't even looked at it, really. Hermione shook her head in amazement. Her fourteen-year-old self would feel betrayed by her actions, but she had different priorities, and the months had flown by. And now, she had to trudge off to the Quiddich World Cup.

She said goodbye to her parents at the end of July, then summoned the Knight Bus. It would probably cost her the rest of her Galleons, but her parents had thoughtfully given her some pounds to convert. "See you later!" She yelled on the steps of the bus, and they waved back lovingly.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wiz-"

"Hi Stan," Hermione said, cutting him off sharply. "I need to go to Ottery St. Catchpole, but first I need to stop in Little Whinging, Surry. Can I do that with six sickles?"

"We 'ent no bloody taxi service," Stan Shunpike grumbled. As far as Hermione knew, there was no magical taxi service.

"Oh come on, I'm paying you extra," Hermione said primly. She had to time this correctly. Sirius had gotten Kreacher to drop Harry off at exactly 8 PM, and she wanted to be able to meet him before he'd have to go inside to his horrible relatives. "An extra sickle, as a tip?"

Shunpike shifted, looked up at Ernie, the driver, and muttered out, "Make it two and you got yourself a deal."

"Brilliant." Hermione slipped the coins into his hand. She supposed she was lucky to hold onto her two Galleons, and stepped into the bus proper, bringing Crookshanks and her trunk behind her.

She barely had a chance to sit down before they zipped off, and Hermione had to force herself into a seat – once buckled in, fortunately, the spells on the bus stretched to include the occupant, and Hermione was able to sit and read an abandoned newspaper quite happily as the bus made it's next three stops.

"'S'your turn, Missy," Shunpike grumbled, "We 'ent waiting for more'n a minute, and I'm countin you on that."

Hermione rolled her eyes and stepped out. Lo and behold, Harry was waiting on the curb, Hedwig's empty cage atop his trunk. "Hermione!" He exclaimed happily, running up to greet her. "Thanks for coming, I was a bit surprised when, erm, Padfoot said you'd pick me up."

"Of course, Harry. It's ever so good to see you! I hope you had fun this summer."

Harry's unusually tanned face crinkled into a smile. "Loads. I can't believe how cool Berlin is! And Sir- Padfoot taught me  _tons_  of spells, and I learned some German."

"That sounds wonderful, Harry," Hermione said. "We'd better get going."

"Oi, Neville!" Shunpike said in surprise as Harry turned toward the bus. "Nice t'see you again!"

Harry turned to her and reddened, but she let it slide. "Nice to see you too, Stan. How much is the ride?"

"Four sickles, mate," he held out a hand with a side-smirk at Hermione. She huffed.

"Blimey, there are  _seatbelts!"_ Harry said wondrously. She sat down and buckled herself in as well, thinking idly that she'd catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Not that she cared too much about Shunpike, but it was the principle of the thing.

When they got to the Burrow, Shunpike gave another jaunty wave to Harry and sent them on their way. "Bye, Neville! Come back soon!"

Hermione gave it about twelve seconds before Molly bustled over to help them get inside. "Oh, it's so good to see you, dears. Ron's been waiting for you two all summer, and look at you, Harry! You must've grown four inches! Seems like you've been eating well. And Hermione, you're looking lovely. Your hair is simply beautiful." Hermione smiled shyly. She had cast the hair-taming spell she learned from Lavender – a great way to catch flies as well, it seemed.

"Thanks for having us over, Mrs Weasley," Harry said. "It's good to be back."

And it was. Hermione hadn't been to the Burrow since the Massacre at the Ministry. Molly, Bill and Charlie had been the only survivors, and Molly had been inconsolable with the loss of her children. She refused to step back into the Burrow, citing too many memories.

Hermione could see what she meant. The house was imbued with hominess, which seemed to wrap itself around her like a blanket. She heard the faint sound of elephants coming down the stairs, and sure enough, Ron emerged.

"You're here!" He exclaimed, rushing forward to give Harry a manly hug. "Blimey, mate, you've gotten taller."

"So I've been told," Harry said with amusement. "It's good to see you, Ron."

Molly's voice cut through their reunion. "Now I know you'll all want to catch up, but it's time for bed. Hermione, you're in Ginny's room, there's a dear, and Harry'll be bunking with Ron. Remember, you have to be up at four tomorrow to get to the campground!"

Harry and Ron looked at each other, and Hermione was certain they would be getting very little sleep. She, on the other hand, was only too happy to get to bed. Tomorrow was going to be a very, very long day.

* * *

It was a terrible thing to ask five teenagers to wake up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday. It was even worse when Hermione remembered she'd be taking a portkey. She hated them, both for the way they affected her and the misuses of them in the past. The theory was interesting, and it was this theory that kept her occupied on the long march to the hill. Ginny made the mistake of asking Hermione what she was thinking about, and was given quite a long explanation.

"You see, there are three types of portkeys. There's the type we'll be taking, a one-direction timed portkey, then there's a round trip portkey, which is activated on contact – or time, it can be set either way – and then there's a voiced portkey, which will only work if you say the right phrase. It reminds me a bit of some of the hallways at Hogwarts, when they'll only open if you ask a certain way, or shortcuts that only open at certain times." Hermione paused for a moment, taking a breath.

Ginny looked quite taken aback at the breadth of response. Hermione realized briefly that most people don't think about charms theory this early in the morning – even the Weasley twins were more sedated than normal. She let the conversation fall off for a while, choosing to enjoy the surrounding scenery.

The portkey, as she expected, was terrible. But it had the happy effect of waking everyone up a bit, and soon enough everyone was happily and sloppily putting tents together. It was finally time for Hermione to act.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The Thanalos potion is used in an excellent fanfiction called When a Lioness Fights, and is a potion that allows the user to perform at an accelerated rate for an extended period of time, but it's both addicting and psychologically damaging with repeated use. This Hermione won't have the same challenges with it that WALF's did, but I thought it was more fun to drop that easter egg instead of creating my own potion.
> 
> thanks for reading! I intended to have this chapter cover the Cup, but it kept getting away from me. I didn't want the chapter to be too terribly long, so the rest of the Cup will be next chapter. I've gotten a lot of really great feedback that's helped me stay motivated on this fic, so if you like the story, please let me know! What do you guys think Hermione will do at the Quiddich World Cup?


	16. Chapter 15 - the Quidditch World Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione attends the Quidditch World Cup.

Hermione allowed herself to have a completely normal day during the Quidditch World Cup, running into friends and many new faces, with a few notable exceptions.

First, she had given Harry a nicely constructed, dragon leather wand holster as a late birthday present. She couldn’t quite remember what she had given Harry all those years ago, but was willing to guarantee it would end up being more useful. This time, Barty Crouch wouldn’t be taking Harry’s wand. No dark mark would be cast. She knew she could cast as much magic as she needed, since it was a magically dense area. Unless she was tripping the dark magic wards, she was as good as an adult.

About an hour before the match, Hermione spotted Ludo Bagman approaching their tent. He was dressed in his horrid yellow robes, a relic of his own Quidditch days, which made him plenty visible. Hermione took a deep breath, and cast a wandless and silent repelling ward between Bagman and the Weasleys. She was a little concerned – her wordless casting was up to snuff, but her wandless casting was much less accomplished. It was something she had only just begun to master in the future, and her younger body just wasn’t in sync with her magic yet. Wandless casting was like working a muscle – the more you practiced, the stronger it became. This body had only been working on wandless magic for a few scant months.

She held her breath as Bagman started to walk towards the Weasley clan, keeping an eye on the invisible line between them. If all went well, Bagman wouldn’t be able to walk five steps past the line before forgetting what he was doing and walking away.

To her pleasure, he did just that. The irritating man stepped towards their tent, scratched his balding head, and turned right around. She exhaled loudly, not realizing that she had been looking in Ron’s direction with an intense expression. He gave her an annoyed look.

Hermione noticed he had been attempting to light a fire with a little matchbox, and she probably came off as if she was annoyed at his incompetence. She was tempted to help him – it was a bit ridiculous, watching him strike the entire box against the ground in an attempt to light it aflame – but Harry came to the rescue and helped him out. That left her free to ask the Weasley twins for a favor.

“I wonder if anyone’s betting on the game,” Hermione said casually as Harry struck the match and quickly lit the kindling. “What do you think will happen?”

“Oh, Bulgaria for sure.” Ron said confidently, seeming to forget the fire entirely. “They’ve got Krum.”

“I dunno, little brother,” said Fred (or perhaps George), “Have you heard how good Ireland is on defense? There’s no chance.”

Fred and George looked at one another with a glint in their eyes. As they stared at the fire, Hermione cast a quiet _muffliato_ and planted a few seeds. “Fred, George, do you think there’s some gold to be made in betting on Ireland?”

They were taken aback, and one of them asked, “The prim and proper Hermione Granger, talking about betting? Did you hear that, Fred?” Their eyes twinkled, and Fred responded cheerfully.

“I did indeed, George. I did indeed. Looks like she’s got something of a rebellious streak after all!”

“Coming to the dark side, she is.” Fred wiped a tear from his eye. “I’m so proud.”

“Better late than never, I always say!”

Hermione smirked. “Oh you silly boys, of course I have a rebellious streak. How many ideas do you think Harry and Ron came up with on their own?”

They roared with laughter, and Hermione had to make sure Harry and Ron didn’t notice the spectacle. Thankfully, they were still messing with the fire, so she continued. “Anyway, I thought you two were the most likely to place a good bet – if you were going to, can I get in on it?”

As one, they looked at each other, grinned, and said “What’s in it for us?”

Hermione smiled. “I can tell you almost certainly the outcome of the match.” That was true enough.

“I worked the arithmancy equations, and there’s an eighty-nine percent chance that Ireland will win, but Krum will catch the snitch.” That was a lie, she hadn’t done any arithmancy. But they didn’t have to know that, and she knew they hadn’t taken it as an elective.

Their grins were downright evil, and she knew they would be able to find someone _besides_ Bagman to bet with.

“I only have three galleons, but I’m trusting you with them. Will you bet with me?” She challenged, holding out the gold.

“You bet!” George said. “Thank you for doing business with us, Miss Granger. You can expect your portion of the profits after the match!” They high fived, and turned back to say together, “Don’t tell dad where we’ve gone.”

Hermione ended the muffliato as the two ran off in search of a better. She had no doubt that they’d find someone to take their galleons – it was the most ridiculous thing to bet. In hindsight, she didn’t know what drove them to bet this way the first time around. For all she knew, Lee Jordan had asked them to do the exact same thing with his gold, and they just took a big chance.

With those two plans in place, Hermione let herself get swept up in the excitement of the match. It was something she hadn’t enjoyed last time. There had been too much noise and excitement for her to truly feel comfortable, and she hardly liked Quidditch anyway. The crowd certainly hadn’t changed this time around, but Hermione was enjoying her friends excitement and cheerfulness. It was a welcome break from her rather serious summer.

One surprisingly enjoyable change was watching Viktor this time around. She missed him, in the future. They hadn’t been particularly close, but he had appreciated her wit, and she his knowledge (he was quite accomplished in Transfiguration). She watched him swerve and feint, and was even able to see a bit of beauty in the game.

She kept a close eye on Winky, and on Harry’s arm holster, but nothing seemed amiss. Hopefully this was enough to keep Barty Crouch Jr. away from a wand. And at long last, Krum caught the snitch, formally ending the game and leaving Ireland with the 1994 Quidditch Cup. The twins looked at her in awe, and she smiled back. “How much do’you think we made?” She asked Fred.

“Oh, loads. Everyone was happy to bet against us, and we found a huge pool of people. We might’ve even made a thousand galleons!” Fred – or, the twin she guessed was Fred – gave her a friendly slap on the back. “All thanks to you and your arithmancy!”

They descended from the top box cheerfully, and Hermione promised to cover for them as they went to get their winnings. All in all, it had been a great evening.

As they returned to the main tent, the boys dancing on the tables in celebration, Hermione sat back. For her, at least, the evening wouldn’t end on a cheerful note. She waited until everyone had mostly settled down, announced that she had too much excitement, and slipped away. This was where the real night began.

Once again blessing the concentration of magic in the area, she did a few well-practiced charms to alter her appearance. Her hair turned a deep black, her face became significantly tanner and harsher, and her muggle jeans and sweater were transfigured into a dark, billowing cloak. Casting this persona had become second nature to her in the future, where Hermione Granger’s face was far too familiar (She’d been Undesirable No. 3, at her peak). That had been two years ago now, far into Voldemort’s reign over Great Britain.

Now, the different appearance would hide her identity for a very different reason. She was going to root out the Death Eaters that were planning on causing a riot, and stop it before it began. Not an action she wanted associated with an assumedly fourteen-year-old girl.

The whole riot was an embarrassment on Britain’s international reputation, and a horrible show of intolerance. She knew it wouldn’t be too long before they started torturing muggles, so she headed to the entrance to the campground. The moon was high, and Hermione was certain it was almost midnight. Witching Hour. She gave a feral grin, her altered appearance making the expression even nastier. She would give them a Witching Hour to remember.

Sure enough, she heard screams from the front of the park, and started jogging, wand lit in front of her. People were starting to scramble out of their tents, noticing something was happening. She followed the screams, pushing people out of her way. There they were, a group of about fourteen hooded wizards, circling around a small family of muggles.

Two other hooded figures stood near the circle, casting some sort of ward around the party. She snarled – that was how they’d gotten away with it for so long! She sent a _reducto_ at one of the figures casting the wards, but it bounced off, harmless.

Hermione jabbed more spells at them, hoping she could break through the ward before it was completely placed. At this point, people were starting to gather around, not realizing what was going on quite yet. To her horror, an _incendio_ passed through the ward and hit a tent. Soon enough, a fire had erupted, and chaos reigned.

“Alright, you bastards, you’ll pay for that!” Hermione yelled, and started to work in earnest on breaking the ward. The poor muggle family was slowly being raised into the air, helpless. A few popping sounds pierced the dull roar of the panicked crowd, and she realized the dark magic monitor must’ve been tripped.

Thankfully, she had only a few more spells before the ward unraveled completely, and she cast with furious concentration. A calm came over Hermione, and she felt herself enter the battle mindset she hadn’t been in since coming back in time. One last spell –

The ward was shattered. A few aurors looked at her in awe, clearly wondering how this strange witch had disabled a ward that they hadn’t even recognized. Hermione couldn’t focus on them, though. She ran headlong towards the Death Eaters, downing two of them with hardly a glance back. Her focus wasn’t on the death eaters, but the muggles. The Aurors would handle the Death Eaters, and hopefully the crowd, too. But no one was looking after the muggles. She rushed to them and cast a shield, snarling at the remaining Death Eaters. They backed away, seeming to realize the game was up.

 It was over in a much shorter time than before. Many of the Death Eaters apparated away, to her disgust, but the whole campground wasn’t set aflame and rioting. She was pleased when she realized the two she’d attacked were actually captured and taken away by the aurors; they had managed to set out all the fires. Seeing it all well in hand, she slipped away. It wouldn’t do for anyone to pay too much attention to her, even with her disguise.

 

 


	17. Chapter 16 - The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and the Weasleys deal with the riot after the Quidditch World Cup.

The aftermath of the riot, though smaller, still left many tents burned beyond repair, and quite a few witches and wizards injured. With any hope, it wouldn’t make the front page, but she knew the event would leave a mark. She cursed herself. It wasn’t supposed to happen at all.

Hermione trekked through the ruined campgrounds slowly, fixing small things as much as she could. Thankfully, she had never been to the Ministry, so they didn’t have her magical signature on file. If they were able to distinguish her casting at all, the aurors would probably chalk her actions up to a foreigner. She maintained her disguise just long enough to reach the tent, and quickly cast a _finite._ With any luck, they would have all gone to sleep by now, and her absence wouldn’t be missed.

It didn’t _look_ bad enough outside for them to decide to flee, but who knew what rumors had flown? She peered into the girl’s tent. “Ginny?” She said softly.

The tent was quiet, and she peered at Ginny’s bed. Sighing, she saw it empty, and took out her time turner. She paused, holding the little necklace out for a moment, before shaking her head. She was completely magically depleted, and wouldn’t last a second if she had to protect the Weasleys from anyone.

Instead, Hermione turned to her book bag, reaching into the illegally-expanded pocket and pulling out a little bottle. Thanalos Serum, she knew it would come in handy. She took a small sip, letting the taste melt over her tongue. It tasted like a harsh whiskey – a sure sign that she had made it right. And sure enough, she felt her energy return, her magic coursing through her like a drug, then turned the time turner twice.

The world whizzed around her, and Hermione saw a wicked fast blur of red run into the room, then rest for a moment on the bed, and just as quickly exit. Keeping a hand on the time turner, she concentrated on re-entering the time stream. Seamlessly, the world slowed to a crawl and finally a stop, and Hermione knew her past self had just run past the tent, ready to kick some death eater ass.

She sat on the bed, not quite ready to sleep after the energy boost from the Thanalos, but pulled the curtains around her four-poster anyway. If she was lucky, there would be enough time to meditate and practice her occlumency.

It seemed like it was only a few moments, however, before Ginny settled into the room to sleep. Fewer, still, that Mr Weasley yelled frantically into their tent.

“Girls, someone’s started a riot!”

Hermione groaned. So news of a riot had spread this far, after all. Briefly, she wondered if anything would change at all, or if she was really just stuck in some sort of sick loop, reliving the timeline and unable to change anything. _Then again,_ she thought to herself, _Sirius and Harry already had very different summers._  

“Girls, are you awake? We need to move!”

Then was a flurry of action, as they were herded out of the tent, met up with the other rushed into the woods past the pitch. There were loads of people running to and fro – no one seemed to know where to run, but plumes of smoke and screams were rampant. Hermione wondered if there were more Death Eaters in another section, and this had been more of a premeditated attack than she believed. It would make sense, she thought, running closely behind Ginny, that more than fourteen Death Eaters had wreaked havoc on the camp. But perhaps angry Bulgarians had joined in, and it wasn’t premeditated at all.

Soon enough, they found themselves hunched in a small clearing. Harry, Ginny, and Ron were throwing theories around, but Hermione stayed quiet. Perhaps if she listened, she could hear another group of rioters. That’s when she realized they weren’t alone.

To Hermione’s careful ears, the crinkle of shoes on leaves was like shouting your presence, and that was all she needed to whirl around, wand at the ready. “Someone’s here!” She whispered harshly, and the others slowly reached for their wands.

“I’ve lost my wand!” Ron wailed loudly, making Hermione cringe. Whoever was around would have easily heard that.

She heard a snort of laughter and quickly cast a _lumos_ in the direction of the potential assailant. To her surprise, the familiar face of Draco Malfoy stepped into the small clearing, protecting his eyes from the bright light. “Leave it to the Weasel to misplace his wand in a time like this. Don’t you know there’s _dark_ wizards about?” Draco mocked. “Not much use in a crisis, are you Weasley?”

Ron angrily reached for his wand, hoping to curse Draco, but remembered it was missing. In true Ron style, he continued to insult the wand-bearing wizard anyway. “I bet your mummy made you stay in the woods instead of joining your daddy out there, Malfoy. Not much use to anyone, are you?”

Hermione rolled her eyes angrily at their quibbling. “This isn’t the time for your stupid fights, guys. We need to find Ron’s wand.”

Everyone present looked at her in surprise – Harry, Ron, and Ginny, because she hadn’t taken their side, and Draco, because she hadn’t _not_ taken his side – and she huffed indignantly. “We can be rivals later. If that riot gets over here, do you really want to be sitting here arguing instead of running for our lives?”

Harry recovered from this unexpected bout of logic first, taking charge of the situation. “Right. What’s the best way to find a wand?”

“A summoning charm,” Draco drawled. When Harry looked at him in surprise, Draco raised a single eyebrow. “What? I’m a Slytherin. Knowledge is power.”

“You’re right, Malfoy.” Hermione said. “ _Accio_ , Ron’s wand!” She hoped Ron had lost it while running, or it caught on a bramble or something. A wand could only be summoned when it wasn’t being held by a witch or wizard (unless the person in question was particularly weak-willed, unconscious, or dead). To her disappointment, a long moment passed and the wand didn’t appear. “Damn!” Hermione cursed.

This, naturally, elicited more incredulous stares. “What?” She challenged, and moved on before someone could voice a question. “Someone else’s probably got it, then. What do you do when your wand is stolen?”

No one seemed to know the answer. Ron sat down on a fallen log, head in his hands. “My parents’ll go mental. Blimey, that’s two wands in three years.”

Draco, who was reluctantly standing with them with his arms crossed, spit out another insult: “The wand probably ran away on its own. It decided you were too stupid to wield it.”

“Oh shut it, Malfoy.” Harry gave Draco a glare. “Listen, mate, we’ll find it. It’s gotta be somewhere around here. _Lumos!”_ He lit his wand and lowered it to the forest floor, trying to search. “Come on, fan out and help me look!”

Obediently, they lit their wands and started searching. Unbeknownst to the rest of them, however, Hermione was searching for more than just the stolen wand. She wanted to find the man who held it, too, and she had a sinking suspicion of who it could be.

“ _Homonium revelio! Lumos!”_ she whispered, waving a hand to cast the two spells simultaneously. A faint red glow emanated to her left. Someone was there, and not too far away either. She followed the spell, stepping carefully over the dry leaves. “Nox.” She said under her breath. It wouldn’t do to let Crouch know where she was.

Once the light got so bright that she was sure he was mere paces from her, she whipped her wand in a, “ _stupefy!”_

She was rewarded by a loud _thump_ as a body fell to the ground. She lit her wand again, examining the forest floor. If it really was Barty Crouch Jr, he would be under an invisibility cloak. What she wasn’t expecting was Winky’s voice shouting for her master. “Master Barty, you bad boy! Where has you gone?”

Hermione disillusioned herself quickly. She had to leave Barty alive, unfortunately, or she wouldn’t have access to the graveyard at the end of the year. That didn’t mean she had to like it, though.

 _“Accio_ Ron’s wand” she whispered again, but this time it came soaring towards her. She plucked it from the air, and then immediately doubled back, hoping Winky didn’t notice her.

“Guys!” She yelled excitedly, “I found it!”

Their odd group came rushing back to the clearing. “Blimey ‘Mione, that’s brilliant!” Ron exclaimed. He was still sitting on the stump, looking forlorn, but jumped up when she returned.

“I’m ever so glad we found it – that could’ve been a disaster!” said Hermione. It was almost a disaster, more than the rest of the students realized. 

Draco was still lingering near their group, and she saw him look at her appraisingly. She sneered and turned away. It still hurt to look at the familiar face, even though she knew how very different he was from his future self.

They stood silently for a moment, not sure how to proceed. Thankfully, the awkward situation was stopped by a familiar voice. “Weasleys! Hey Weasleys and company, this way! Can you hear us?”

Charlie Weasley was standing at the edge of the woods a few yards away, and seemed to have been calling them for a while. “Hello! Ron? Fred? Ginny?”

“We’re over here!” Ginny yelled quickly. “We’re coming, Charlie!”

They set out towards him, and he looked over in relief. “I’m glad you’re all safe! It’s fine to go back to the tents, now. Just a bit of a ruckus in the north section, but it’s all over.”

While Charlie was hugging his siblings and Harry asking about the riot, Hermione glanced behind her. Draco was cloaked in the shadow of the trees, and seemed ready to disappear. She gave him a small nod in thanks. Draco nodded in return, and then set off further into the woods. She would have to keep an eye on him.

Hermione’s potion was wearing off by the time they reached the tents again, and everyone seemed more than happy to collapse into bed and forget the whole night. Mr Weasley gathered them all around the coals of their fire, making sure he had everyone together. “Alright, looks like we’re all here. Thanks for handling that situation so well, kids. The ministry is going to have a field day with this, but that’s a problem for another day. Get to sleep – oh, and Bill, Charlie, would you mind setting a few wards around the tents, just in case?”

They jumped up to help, and Hermione trudged into the girl’s tent for some much-deserved sleep. It had been a long, long day.


	18. Chapter 17 - The Heroine of Sussex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione makes the front page.

The morning brought Hermione and the Weasley’s a fresh start, and all of them were much more cheerful as they took down the tent and portkeyed to the Burrow. Despite the early hour, they trooped inside to find Molly reading the paper and sipping some strong tea.

“Oh, Arthur, kids, I’m so glad you’re alright!” She immediately abandoned the tea, coming up to give Mr Weasley a firm hug, followed by each of her children. “I heard about the riot – nasty business, that. I’m just glad the Aurors and that brave witch were able to stop them.”

“What brave witch, mum?” Asked Fred (or George, Hermione was never certain). “Why, it’s on the front page! Someone managed to photograph the woman who single-handedly stopped the riot!”

They all gathered round the Prophet, sitting on the table. Hermione had to keep herself from gasping, as her disguise’s doppelganger crouched over the cowering muggle family, protecting them from the Death Eaters.

The girl in the photo looked vicious – dangerous – in a way Hermione had never seen herself. This was a woman she wouldn’t want to go against. It was an odd feeling, knowing that she was in the picture and yet not identifying with the girl in the photograph. More pressing, however, was whatever the article said.

“THE HEROINE OF SUSSEX: WHO IS THIS BRAVE WOMAN? By Rita Skeeter.”

Hermione groaned. There was another piece to this game she had neglected – that blasted woman, Rita Skeeter, had somehow managed to make Hermione’s _alias_ the most famous person in Britain, at least for a day. The article lauded her (or the Heroine of Sussex, really) as an incredible dueler of unknown origin, and described her contributions to the riot, if a bit over-exaggeratedly.

Honestly, the way Skeeter told it, she may as well have been fighting a foreign army single-handedly, instead of overpowering fourteen bullies. And she hadn’t been alone, she had aurors helping her. While she processed her own presence in the paper, the rest of the crowd was chattering excitedly over the paper.

“I can’t believe we were there with her the whole time and never saw the Heroine of Sussex!” Ginny complained loudly.

“Dad, does she work at the Ministry with you?” That came from Charlie.

“I wonder if she’s from abroad – she looks like she could be Greek or something.”

 “I wish I was that good at Defense,” said Harry longingly. Hermione had to keep herself from laughing – if only they knew that the woman they spoke of was in their midst. She knew she had to keep quiet, though. There was no reason at all for them to suspect her, and the sooner this Heroine of Sussex drama calmed down, the happier she’d be.

Watching Molly’s fly swatter soar through the air to swat a mosquito, Hermione was reminded of another pesky insect. Maybe something good _could_ come out of this whole Heroine of Sussex business. It was about time she reigned Rita Skeeter in, anyway.

As soon as Hermione could get an owl to her, she was going to realize exactly what Hermione was capable of. She smirked, and Ron gave her a strange look. The rest of the family was sitting down to eat breakfast, so Hermione quickly shoved her thoughts to the back of her mind and joined them.

While the Weasley’s house was always a rowdy, crowded affair, it really did feel like a sort of second home. She didn’t appreciate the level of attention she was under, having spent the majority of her summer alone, but getting to bask in the friendly, familial atmosphere of the Burrow was almost like a vacation. It had taken a while for Hermione to realize it, but she was _tired._ She had been working almost nonstop since she had returned in the past, and the forced break was a welcome one. Even if it involved de-gnoming the garden and sharing a bedroom with Ginny, who was famous in her family for having the loudest snore.

A scant few days later, they were all going to Diagon Ally to get school supplies. Surprisingly, Molly let them go without having to stay in a big redheaded pack, which Hermione attributed to the less catastrophic riot at the Cup. Molly felt secure enough to let them go and wander off, which suited Hermione quite fine.

She cast an obscuring charm on her face. It was quite clever, if she did say so herself. It functioned something like _muffliato_ but for sight, keeping those around her from seeing her facial features but not realizing it was because of a spell. Instead, her face just sort of slid past people’s attention, and they moved on without giving her a second glance.

This worked well for Hermione, because she wanted no associations at all between Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Know-It-All, and the letter she was about to send.

Hermione had agonized over the wording, going so far as to read it aloud to Dobby and ask for his opinion (really, the only useful part of that whole endeavor was reading aloud, but she felt silly talking to herself). At the end, however, she had a very carefully worded letter that suggested Rita Skeeter ask permission before writing about the Heroine of Sussex in the paper again, and that the woman should keep in touch lest she let her little buggy secret slip.

She was quite proud of it, and wished she could show it to someone besides Dobby, who didn’t quite appreciate the wordplay.

Hermione slipped back into the group after her stopping by the post office, hopefully without anyone noticing she was missing. Seeing as she found them at Quality Quidditch Supplies, she guessed she was safe. The rest of the day passed uneventfully, although Hermione was amazed to re-find her pale blue dress robes. Unhesitatingly, she grabbed them again. It wasn’t as if anyone in this timeline had seen her wear it, after all.

Due to the excellent payout from her gambling at the Cup, Hermione wasn’t wanting for gold. This gave her quite a bit of room to play with, and she probably spent a little more than she should have on books, potions supplies, and a new trunk (it was only thirty galleons, and it had _four_ secret compartments, one of which was a library!). Since they weren’t being chosen by Molly, Ron got some actual decent dress robes. Hermione would have to see about making sure Ron had a better time at the ball – his words had stung, and if a nicer date could keep him occupied, she would be quite relieved.

Hermione wondered about Ron on occasion – he had always been a bit childish, but was (generally) fiercely loyal to Harry. She was a little concerned about his jealous behavior, it would just keep Harry from doing his best in the Tournament. Not to mention, it was bloody annoying. Ron was only just growing out of his jealousy after the war, and she mourned the mature man he had grown up to be. Now, Hermione would be surrounded with adolescents and miniature versions of the friends she knew.

If she didn’t have the time turner to give herself breaks from their immaturity, Hermione wondered if she might go insane this year.


	19. Chapter 18 - Back Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione, Ron, and Harry ride the Hogwarts Express.

When August 31st rolled around, Hermione was already going a bit stir-crazy. She itched to train, like she had during the summer, but the first time she had done calisthenics in her and Ginny’s shared room, the girl had looked at her like she was bonkers.

At least at school, Hermione would be able to research and study in peace. Most of the year would be a waiting game, and she was honestly concerned about being bored out of her mind. If only she had Draco, perhaps this wouldn’t have seemed like such a lonely mission. Her friends would be around her, true, but they weren’t yet the friends she remembered from the future.

She did bond more with Ginny, who seemed to have taken the Heroine of Sussex as a new idol. She was so taken with having a female figure to look up to, that she seemed to stop hero-worshipping Harry as much. Instead, she started instructing Hermione on how to be more like the Heroine, which she took with a smile. After all, when Hermione was a thirteen year old, she had obsessed over Gilderoy Lockheart of all people. This was a much better use of Ginny’s time.

In a show of support, she gave Ginny a wand holster for her birthday. It didn’t keep her from feeling like she would be babysitting the girl – along with all of their friends – as soon as term started.

So it was with a heavy heart that Hermione arrived at King’s Cross, with her new trunk and Crookshanks in tow. She made a point to walk up and down the train a few times, just to get a feel for how all the other students were feeling (She refused to call it patrolling). As she passed them, she greeted her year mates warmly, and gave a little smile to everyone she passed. She wasn’t blind enough to her own faults to realize they all looked taken aback by her. She was the know-it-all, teacher’s pet Hermione Granger, not someone who smiled and _didn’t_ try to confiscate the pet tarantula or fanged Frisbee she saw someone sheepishly holding,.

When she passed a compartment with Marietta Edgecomb, Cedric, Cho, and Luna, however, she had to stop. She saw Cedric and Cho paid a little too much attention to each other’s mouths, and was turning away to give them some privacy. As she did, she saw Marietta grab Luna’s bag and rifle through it.

“Did you find another make-believe insect, Loony?” Marietta said, sniggering at Luna’s copies of _The Quibbler._ Luna smiled thinly, like this was something she dealt with every day.

“No, Marietta, I didn’t run into many nargles this summer. They seem to be surrounding you very thickly though,” said Luna distantly. She didn’t fight Marietta as she continued rifling through the bag.

Eventually, Marietta came upon a chocolate frog, and squealed with delight. “Oh Loony, another chocolate frog for me? You’re such a sweet friend.”

Hermione looked in disgust. It had been a while since she acted on her Gryffindor tendancies, it was about time for them to come out to play again.

“Luna, I’ve finally found you!” She exclaimed excitedly, then made a show of looking around the compartment. Cho and Cedric broke away, slightly embarrassed, and Marietta looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “Hi Diggory, Chang.” She continued flippantly. “Oh, Luna, do you have the latest _Quibbler?_ My parents don’t have a subscription. They’re dentists, you know.”

Luna, to her credit, took the entire thing in stride. “Hello Hermione,” she said, “I’d be happy to lend you my _Quibbler_. Marietta seems to have it right now, though.”

Marietta sat there dumbfounded, chocolate frog still in hand and the bag sitting dammingly in her lap. Before the girl could make any excuses, Hermione rounded on her.

“What are you doing with Luna’s bag, Edgecomb? Decided to pick on a poor third year?” She snarled. “It’s not very intelligent to steal someone’s stuff. You’re fortunate that Luna’s too nice to fight back. And you!” She whirled on Cedric, who was watching with a blank look. “You’re supposed to be a prefect, and you’re letting this girl bully a housemate _in your own compartment!”_

She turned to Luna and gave her a sad smile. “Do you want to join me in my compartment, Luna? You’re always welcome to sit with me, Harry, and Ron.”

Luna smiled brilliantly. “I’d love that.”

Carelessly, Hermione turned on the remaining students. “I hope you’ll reconsider your actions this year. Gryffindors aren’t afraid to get revenge for a friend.” Her eyes were icy, and the three had no words to reply. “ _Accio_ , Luna’s bag,” Hermione said lazily, and the bag came flying towards her. “Let’s go, Luna.”

They left without a word. In the hallway, Luna turned to her with the most un-Luna-like incredulity Hermione had ever seen from the girl. “Thank you, Hermione Granger.” She said serenely, and continued, “As far as I know, we haven’t been friends in the past.”

Hermione responded definitively, “We are now. You’re a nice girl, Luna. I won’t let people hurt you like that.” Luna had been the one to warn them about the destruction of the Ministry, and while Hermione had never truly understood the girl, she had come to accept her quirks. “Come on, let’s get to my compartment. I’ll need your help figuring out if there are any nargles in there.”

She slid the door open, and Ron and Harry turned to look at them. “Blimey, Hermione, where have you been?”

“Around,” she said vaguely. “By the way, this is Luna. She’s a Ravenclaw in your sister’s year, Ron. She’ll be sitting with us today.” She glared at the two boys, and they said nothing to argue.

“Hi, Luna,” said Harry kindly, breaking the silence. “I’m Harry.”

“I know who you are, Harry Potter,” Luna said in the same distant voice she’d used in the hall. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Ron leaned over and whispered to Harry, “Is it just me, or did Hermione get _scary_ over the summer?” Harry nodded in agreement. “Erm, welcome, Luna.” He said awkwardly. “D’you like Wizard’s chess?”

The train ride passed enjoyably after that. Ron found Luna to be an excellent Chess player, and Harry filled Hermione in about all of his adventures in Berlin. “Thanks for asking Dobby to come over, by the way. I really appreciate it.”

Hermione smiled brilliantly. “Of course, Harry. Dobby helped me after my visit to the Hospital Wing last year. I had no idea Hogwarts had so many house elves – I do hope they’re treated well – but it wasn’t stated in _any_ of the editions of ‘Hogwarts: A History,’ I’ve ever read. I can’t believe they’d leave out something so significant!”

Harry cocked his head. “There are multiple editions of ‘Hogwarts: A History?”

“But of course, there’s loads. They update it every seven years. I’m certain you’ll be in the next one, Harry. They talked about the youngest seeker in the 1891 edition.”

“Blimey, ‘Mione, how many editions of that book have you read?”

“Oh, nearly all of them, I’d imagine.” Hermione replied smugly. “All the ones we have in the library, at least. Where do you think I learned about the pipes that ran through the castle?”

Harry gaped. He clearly didn’t realize _exactly_ how much Hermione read. “I read a few books over the summer hols, you know.” He said conversationally. “Sirius gave me a few to read. Said they’d be interesting.”

“That’s wonderful, Harry.” Hermione was glad Sirius had kept to his word and taught Harry something. “What were they about?”

“Oh, all sorts of things. I learned a few spells, I’ll have to show you them.”

He seemed weirdly reluctant to tell her about it, but Hermione didn’t push. “I wonder what our new Defense professor will be like,” she said instead, even though she knew the answer. (In fact, she knew the answer better than anyone else in the castle this year).

“Dunno,” Harry replied. “I can’t imagine anyone better than Remus, though.” Hermione nodded her agreement. “I sorta wish Sirius could teach Defense – I know it’s hopeless, but I really miss him.”

“I hope you’ll be able to see him soon,” Hermione said, although she knew it would be a while longer. “At least he’s safe, right?”

They passed the rest of the train ride happily chatting, talking about upcoming classes and, naturally, the Heroine of Sussex. Luna was of the opinion that she was a super-spy from America who had defected to protect the Muggles and Muggleborns of Britain. Ron, on the other hand, thought she was a Greek witch from a mysterious cult.

Jokingly, Hermione threw in her own theory about the woman being a time-traveler from the next millennium, cleaning up the messes of Britain’s past. Harry vetoed that one, claiming that there were much better things to travel back for. What surprised Hermione most of all, though, was the lack of interruption from Draco and his goons. She remembered him coming in and bragging that he knew about the Tournament. She wondered what had changed.

They rolled into the station at dusk, and Hermione was determinedly pulling Luna along with them. They were a little squished when Ginny and Neville joined them in the carriages, but no one questioned her inclusion. When Hermione got out of the carriage, she pet the Thestrals and said goodbye. To her surprise, Luna joined her.

“I didn’t know anyone else could see them.” Luna said softly. “It was my mum, that I saw. Who have you seen die?”

“Too many people, Luna. Too many.”


	20. Chapter 19: Crouch, Eye, and Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione attends the welcoming feast and classes begin.

Hermione spent the feast studiously avoiding two pairs of eyes. The first was Draco Malfoy, who she avoided out of sheer guilt. It wasn’t fair that Hermione made it back, and Draco didn’t. The boy’s steely eyes only reminded her of the friend she lost. Plus, she was confused by his actions. Something just wasn’t right about him.

The second pair of eyes she avoided were those of Severus Snape. She hadn’t forgotten the legilimancy he performed at the end of last year, and she knew she would have to keep away from him as much as possible. If anyone at Hogwarts would discover her secret, it would be him. He seemed to be looking at the Gryffindor table an inordinate amount, but it could’ve been Hermione being more aware of his gaze.

Hermione was relieved when everyone’s attention was diverted by the arrival of the new Defense professor and the Triwizard Tournament. Whispers erupted throughout the hall when they announced that Durmstrang and Beauxbatons would be visiting. It let her focus on the upcoming school year.

She had finished her summer homework at the Burrow, which had barely taken her an hour for each assignment. Hopefully, her future knowledge and writing wouldn’t set any alarm bells off. More importantly, however, was the work she had to do before the end of the school year.

She supposed she could take care of the ring during spring break (she planned to be seventeen by that time, as she’d be doubling every day), but the cup was another story. This might call for help from Sirius, now that she was mostly limited to the castle.

By the time dessert appeared on the tables, the chattering had returned to a dull roar, and people started speaking of more than just the tournament. “How was your birthday, Neville?” Hermione asked, engaging the pudgy boy across from her.

“Oh, it was pretty quiet. I got a few plants, and thanks for the wand holster.” She went with a theme gift this summer, because it was frankly appalling that none of them had holsters.

“I love what you’ve done with your hair, Hermione,” gushed Lavender. “Which spells are you using?”

Hermione smiled and made herself to look self-conscious. “Oh, definitely the de-frizzing spell you showed me, _sedatus,_ and also a curling charm I found in a book on household spells.”

Pavarti leaned over, “What’s that charm called, Hermione? I’ve never gotten my hair to stay curly before.” Hermione was happy to share her charms knowledge, especially now that she’d found a captive audience. As long as she was talking about charms that involved appearance, Pavarti and Lavender were extremely engaged. She still found them slightly vapid and annoyingly giggly, but twenty-two-year-old Hermione was much more able to tolerate their childishness.

She chatted with the girls about beauty products and charms for the rest of the evening, and even Ginny joined in at one point, after they all trooped back to the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione was more interested in how the spells could be used in disguise (especially the breast-altering charm, which she thought she could use to look like a boy if she needed), but there was no reason the other girls needed to know that.

To her pleasure, Harry and Ron were chatting with Neville since she was otherwise engaged. She was surprised how far a little work went to making the Gryffindor’s a lot more involved. Looking over at the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, she could see the seeds growing there. Marietta Edgecomb would never bully Luna, at least, ever again.

The next morning, Hermione woke early, before the rest of her dorm. She slipped away to visit Poppy Pomfrey, another friend she wished she could talk to candidly. The halls were largely empty, and she found herself enjoying the walk. She had _missed_ Hogwarts. She missed the creaky portraits, the ghosts that wandered to and fro; even passing cranky old Mrs. Norris and Filch made her reminisce over her past. She had to stop this, she realized. If she let herself live in the past, she would never be able to accomplish her goals.

Finally reaching the Hospital Wing, Hermione knocked softly on Poppy’s office door. There was no reason to wake her, should she still be asleep.

She worried for no reason, however, as Poppy appeared. “Good morning, Miss Granger,” she said. “I do hope you’re here about your time-turning, and no ills have befallen you.”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m in perfect health. I just wanted to check in, like you asked,” Hermione said quickly. “I did promise.”

“I appreciate that, Miss Granger. If you’ll allow me, I will run a few diagnostics.” Hermione nodded her assent, and Poppy started casting, moving her wand in a circle. She knew that charm – it was a pretty standard diagnostic, giving the sex, age, and general health status of the subject.

Hermione cursed herself silently. Poppy would surely notice she had aged even more than before.

“Just what I thought. You’re in perfect health, girl, but you seem to have disregarded my advice from last year.” Hermione lowered her head in shame (the shame was more in herself, for forgetting to hide her true age, but Poppy took it for the time turner use).

“Well, it’s not illegal to use, so there’s nothing I can force you to change about your actions. But I _do_ want you reporting to me every month, like I said before.”

“I can do that, Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione said eagerly. She didn’t know quite why Poppy was being lenient with her, but she appreciated it all the same. “Every month, I promise.”

“Ah, let me clarify. Every one of _your_ months. Every thirty-one days you’ve lived through, I want you back in this wing. And don’t try to lie to me, I’ll know.”

Hermione didn’t argue, but that was because she had a good idea of how to get around the whole issue next time. She’d have to create a variant of the aging potion that targeted magical age, not physical, but it shouldn’t be too hard. Certainly not out of her abilities.

Thoughts of this new potion kept her entertained for her first week, which passed more slowly than Hermione had imagined. She took notes in classes as dutifully as always, but they were peppered with little questions for her to research later, theories about lacewing flies or newt tails, bubortuber pus and powdered ginger. Even the occasional doodle found their way onto her notes. In short, she was bored out of her mind.

There were few classes that drew her attention in subject matter alone, but Defense Against the Dark Arts never failed to keep her on her toes. The first class, where they were introduced to the Unforgivables, was Hermione’s first true challenge.

When Crouch, disguised as Moody, called Hermione up to be put under the Imperius, she was as prepared as she could be. She had meditated for an hour beforehand, making sure her occlumency shields were up to snuff, and then purposefully kept her mind so well fortified that a legilimencer would think she had gone braindead. There was nothing there for anyone to see, at least from the outside.

Hermione stepped up to the front of the classroom, keeping herself very still as she allowed Crouch-Moody to cast, “ _Imperio!”_

Immediately, Hermione’s mind felt blissfully light and floaty, like she had just stood up after too much to drink. Swaying slightly, Hermione heard Crouch in her mind saying, _stand on your head._

Hermione instinctively fought to repel the intrusion, the foreign voice in her mind. But instead of continuing to fight, Hermione willingly listened to the voice the second time. _Stand on your head, there’s a lass. All you have to do is stand on your head._

Grudgingly, she did a headstand and held it until she felt Crouch retreat from her mind. “Excellent work, Granger. Twenty points to Gryffindor for fighting! You work on that, and you’ll almost be at Potter’s level.” Her peers started muttering to one another, which drew a sharp reprimand from Crouch.

“CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” Moody’s voice bellowed. The whole class jumped. “There should be more than two of you who can start to fight the Imperius. It’s the only Unforgivable that can be fought by anyone, and it would truly be unforgivable for me to keep you all from learning to defend yourselves. Class dismissed.”

As they left, chattering excitedly about the period, Hermione mused that Crouch actually seemed to be a decent professor. Maybe in another life, when he hadn’t sold his soul to a monster of a man, Crouch could’ve turned out okay. She wondered what had happened to make his life go so _very_ wrong.

After purposefully losing the battle of wills between herself and a crazed death eater, Hermione was almost happy to realize the majority of her classes would be dull and repetitive. It was her second go-rounds that really engaged her, for that was when she attended her extra electives and worked on her potion.

In truth, Hermione’s school year was going slowly. Despite escaping every other day for her go-rounds, she was slightly disappointed at how childish her fellow students were. It was all worth it, she reminded herself: it would be worth it when Voldemort was dead, and she no longer had to pretend that she was just a simple student.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charms created: sedatus, meaning “be calm”


	21. Chapter 20 - Alterations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione learns some truths about Arithmancy.

Weeks of regular days passed without note, and with a start she realized it was almost time for the visiting schools to arrive.

Everywhere around the school, people were anxiously awaiting the arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, paying much less attention to learning magic than to the thousands of rumors circulating through the school.

While passing her fellow students, she heard such _riveting_ news as, “I’ve heard that Beauxbatons and Durmstrang are the only magic schools on the continent, and Durmstrang requires all of their students to serve in a magical militia after graduation.”

She was leaving potions class one afternoon, and overheard Daphne Greengrass say to Pansy Parkinson, “Did you know that Beauxbatons witches have an entire course dedicated to love potions and charms?”

Hermione snorted at that one, getting glares from the two witches. She hurried away, trying to avoid an altercation with Snape so close. She was still keeping her head down in that class, making sure Snape didn’t catch her eye. He was probably infuriated that he had nothing to dock from her potions, for she never handed in an imperfect potion.

Another one she heard in the great hall. “Oh yeah, Durmstrang’s in the middle of the black forest, and it led all the students to become dark magic practitioners.”

Despite Hermione’s resolve to stick by Harry during her first go-rounds, and trying to cement his friendships with his other year mates, Hermione found herself retreating more and more to the privacy of her “workroom.”

Hermione had warded a nice little abandoned classroom for herself, where she could work on her potions and exercise without being interrupted. The age-altering potion had finally reached it’s last stage of experimentation, and her arithmancy equations convinced her it was time to brew it.

She tried to tell herself she was using her time wisely, working on experimental potions to fool Poppy’s inquisition, but she eventually had to admit that she was also creating the potion out of enjoyment. She had never had as much free time in her life to experiment and study; the possibilities were limitless. In her spare time, while brewing, sitting through classes, or between classes, she started running arithmancy equations in her head.

She couldn’t actually cast the spells without writing it down, of course, but she could analyze all the elements and organize her thoughts so that when she did get ink to parchment, she would take less than a minute to have her answer.

And through these calculations, she started to realize a disturbing trend. It didn’t matter what task she was analyzing (finding the cup, retrieving the locket, or even the confrontation with Voldemort) -  her calculations were coming out _wonky_. One day her odds of success were in the eighties, and the next day they were so close to zero that she had to re-evaluate the equation several times before assuring herself that her math was correct.

She couldn’t figure out, then, why her calculations weren’t working. The only conclusion she could think of was a change in the data, but surely nothing had altered catastrophically. Hermione had worked hard to keep herself out of the big events, the events that could alter the timeline.

She eventually gave it up as a bad job; clearly there was something missing from her equations, and she would have to give it time before the new elements came to pass.

Her lack of success was made up for in other areas. Her age altering potion was a great success, and she had successfully gone to Poppy without the woman realizing her true age (she was almost sixteen and two months, now, although only one real month had passed), and she had a good stock of everything from Thanalos to Polyjuice.

She had enlisted Sirius and Dobby’s help in locating Hufflepuff’s cup, after some hesitation on Sirius’s part. Hermione had briefly hoped Sirius would be able to check the Lestrange vault, but Sirius was less than confident.

“Oh yeah sure, Hermione,” said Sirius drolly. “I’ll just walk in, ask to go to the Black Vault, and hopefully they’ll let me just nip over to the Lestrange vault to get dear cousin Bella’s  _ancient magical artifact_. They’ll overlook that I’m a fugitive, of course, and maybe they’ll even crown me their king since they’ll love me so much after I end up stealing from them.”

Hermione sighed, letting Sirius rant as she stirred a Wolfsbane potion idly. Remus had moved in with Sirius, after Hermione had remembered that he would still be living in relative poverty due to his Lycanthropy. When Remus replied saying he wouldn’t endanger Sirius like that, Hermione demanded he go, and she’d make his Wolfsbane every month. “Listen, Sirius, I need that cup. I know it sounds ridiculous.”

She paused, for Sirius had given a snort so loud it shook the mirror that was balanced on her worktable.

“It sounds ridiculous, but I have a really strong feeling that this is one of Voldemort’s horcruxes. I have no idea where else it could be.”  She was starting to be very concerned about the whole thing. Even if it wasn’t in the Lestrange Vault, how could she hope to find it?

Sirius rubbed his eyes, looking tired. “I can ask Kreacher to look into it, Merlin knows he saw more death eaters than I did. I think he might’ve even met Voldemort, once.”

“Brilliant, Sirius. Thank you. I’ve already got Dobby looking for it, but Kreacher knows anything, that’d be quite helpful.”

Her progress on the ring was similarly stalled, as was Nagini. And Hermione was still torn on how to deal with Harry’s horcrux. She had a few ideas that she’d tried to run through her arithmancy equations, but they were still less than reliable.

The arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang passed uneventfully, although Hermione did get to engage in conversation with the French speaking students, and Harry gave German a good try. Hermione was almost fluent in French, but the Beauxbatons students sitting at the Ravenclaw table still managed to find flaws in her grammar and pronunciation.

Still, they seemed to respect her more than they had last time, and Hermione wasn’t about to turn away any potential allies. The two students she spoke with most, twins named Margot and Anton, were very skeptical of Hogwarts, judging by their disapproval of its visual appeal.

“ _It was a castle built for defense, first and foremost,_ ” Hermione explained in French, “ _and rooted in tradition. We did not have a taste for finery, like how you describe Beauxbatons.”_

Margot gave a very delicate snort. “ _That is evident. It does explain the differences, however. We have our traditions too, but unneeded things should be disposed of. Like this ugly metal,”_ she gestured at a suit of armor that had clearly seen better days.

“ _Oui, we would tear that down and make something beautiful. Give it new life._ ” Added Anton.

Hermione gave a tight smile, deciding their slights to Hogwarts were superficial; not worth arguing. It was a lesson she definitely hadn’t learned when she was actually fifteen years old.

She headed to Arithmancy with their words swirling around in her mind. They made her think of something, but she couldn’t quite figure it out. _Give it new life_ , they had said. It was a loaded phrase, considering the proximity to Voldemort’s rebirth. It was troubling. Her mind stayed fixed on the phrase throughout Arithmancy, where they were incorporating tables with three known elements and one unknown variable. Child’s play, for Hermione, but she was used to setting webs with twenty or more variables.

She found herself returning to the same variables she had been dealing with all year: her odds of survival in retrieving the cup and the ring, balanced against any variables that could stand in her way. Before she knew it, she had listed out ten or more “obstacle” variables, including Snape (if he read her mind), Dumbledore (if he disagreed with her choice of action), the Ministry (if they caught her for underage magic), the horcruxes themselves… the list went on.

In a short time, she had reconstructed the exact same schema she had been writing for months, and was still getting uncertain answers. It was infuriating.

She sat back, glaring at the parchment as if it had caused the problem. The words of the twins, Margot and Anton, returned to her: _Unneeded things should be disposed of._

Hermione suddenly saw her schema in a new light. Maybe it didn’t need to be so complex, so filled with potential obstacles. In fact, maybe there were more allies than obstacles.

Getting a fresh piece of parchment, she started making much simpler schemas. Her survival rate, against the horcrux itself and its compulsions – that little equation gave her a 40% chance. But her survival rate, paired with her occlumency skills, against the horcrux-  that gave her a fifty. So if she was occluding, she would be 10% more likely to beat the ring.

And as a test, she threw in the other “obstacles,” but stacked them on her side instead of the horcrux’s. Dumbledore as an ally gave her a sad 33% (but he had trouble with the ring on his own), Sirius a 60%, Draco 65%. Dobby’s aid raised it to a surprising 70% - her best yet. She cast the spell again, the simplified situation with her and Dobby as a team, and got 70% once more. This was brilliant! Better luck than she had in the last month with her Arithmancy.

With this in mind, she balanced the full equation once more, adding Dobby as her ally and the rest as obstacles – 69%. She cast it again, just to see if it would waver again – 55%. Dammit, she was hoping this was the solution. Apparently she was missing a variable still, or she would have a consistent number. A third cast (just in case) returned her to 69%. What was she missing?

The class ended, and Hermione was left thoroughly unsatisfied with her arithmancy equations. She looked at Septima Vector, who was dismissing the class and collecting their work (Hermione had finished it in the first ten minutes). Vector had a brilliant mind for this sort of thing, and while she clearly couldn’t share the context of her question, she might get some insight from it. None of her classmates were surprised when she walked up to the professor’s desk.

“Professor Vector?” Hermione asked, grabbing her attention. “I was wondering if you could help me with a bit of extracurricular research.”

Vector smiled kindly, used to Hermione’s questions by now. “Of course, dear. What are you working on?”

“Well, I know we haven’t started doing analysis on personal situations yet, but I was wondering if you know why a problem would have different percentages when casting.”

Vector looked surprised. “Miss Granger, we won’t be covering personal likelihood equations until sixth year, as you very well know. How much have you been working outside of class?”

Hermione blushed. “It’s my favorite subject, Professor. I just can’t keep myself from trying _everything_.”

“I felt quite the same, when I was here. It’s a powerful subject. So I’ll give you a bit of advice, Hermione. Arithmancy can only take you so far. It relies on your knowledge of the world around you, and especially in a personal schema, you can’t ever be certain of the outcomes. It’s much easier to define the variables when you are aware of the scope, which is hard to tell when other people are involved. It’s even harder to tell if they’re someone you don’t know very well. The different percentage could be a misjudgment of character on your part, a missed variable, or even a whole concept you’re missing.”

She gathered the papers on her desk, and they made a loud _thunk_ when she hit them against the table to align them. “Don’t live in equations, Miss Granger, and ignore the world around you. Sometimes the answer is outside.”


	22. Chapter 21 - The Goblet of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's name comes out of the Goblet of Fire.

Hermione took Vector’s words to heart: there must be something in the world outside of her equations that had missed her attention. There were other things to think about, anyway. That helped her too, for she had to focus on Harry’s name eventually coming out of the Goblet of Fire.

Hermione had been subtly sowing seeds with her classmates to curry their favor. She didn’t want Harry to have to be so very isolated after his name came out of the Goblet – it never should have happened that way in the first place, but Hermione hadn’t known how to manipulate people back then (or even cared that people agree with her. It was one of the things that made her more Gryffindor than anything else).

She sat in the hall, contemplating the little cup that would cause her friend so many problems in the coming year. Suddenly, Fred and George trooped in, bringing an entourage of giggling students. She had forgotten about this! They were using an aging potion to try and fool the age line.

Hermione had to keep herself from laughing out loud. In her warded, formerly-abandoned classroom, she had a year-long stash of potion that would make anyone appear the magical age they desired. If only she hadn’t decided to let Harry get put in the tournament again. She would have enjoyed Fred and George wreaking havoc upon the Tournament.

Instead, she sat back with a small grin on her face as they put their names in the goblet triumphantly, and then the horrible backlash as they both sprouted giant, white beards.

Anton, who had been sitting at the Ravenclaw table, came over to Hermione and sat down. Immediately, his food transferred to the new plate, and he made an exclamation of surprise. “ _I suppose you British have more going for you than I thought. Although some are still quite silly.”_

Hermione grinned. “ _Oui, the Weasley twins. They are like more playful versions of you and Margot.”_

_“Oh my, I take it back. You British are ridiculous. Please never compare us to those hooligans again.”_

Harry came to sit down with them, and Hermione gave him a cheerful grin in greeting. “ _I happen to like them. For all of their antics, they lighten up the place. Maybe you could use that as well, no?”_

Harry looked at Hermione like she had grown two heads. “Wow, that’s amazing! Erm, I didn’t know you spoke French, ‘Mione.”

“Oh yes,” said Hermione, “Ever since my family started vacationing in France, they’ve made sure I speak the language. Anton, how is my accent?”

Anton made an uncomplimentary face. “If I weer deaf and from Belgium, peerhaps I would imagine you a native. Steel unlikely.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, in his book that’s practically a mastery. Have you met Anton, Harry?”

“Can’t say I have,” said Harry, bemused. “Nice to meet you, Anton. Erm, I’d try to speak French to you, but I’m afraid my only foreign language is German, and it’s not nearly so good as Hermione’s.”

Anton replied haughtily, “Oh yes, Geerman. Well it ees good you are learning something, I suppose.”

“ _I’m_ really proud of your German, Harry. I can’t speak a lick of it, myself.” Hermione said diplomatically. “Anton, did you want to compete?” She gestured to the Goblet of Fire.

“No, eet is not my goal to find success in combat. I will succeed as a cursebreaker, or a spellweaver.” Harry seemed to react oddly to that. He had been surrounded by Gryffindors, who all seemed to have a thirst for the Tournament, and was pleasantly surprised to find a like-minded individual.

“I’m not a big fan of it either, Anton,” said Harry. “I’d prefer to have Quidditch, to be honest.”

From there, the two were involved in a heated debate over whether Bulgaria deserved to win at the Quidditch World Cup, and Hermione was left to her thoughts. She had about twelve hours before the champions would be announced, and wished she had someone to consult about how Harry could present his case.

She knew it was fruitless to try and keep Harry from telling the truth. Even if she convinced him to lie, he would be upset about lying all the time instead of focusing on improving as a wizard. So her best bet was to convince the rest of the school that Harry really _didn’t_ want to put his name in.

Just as she was contemplating how to do this, a large, menacing owl swooped in. It dropped a letter on her plate and glared at her with eerie yellow eyes. She held its gaze guilelessly, and it quickly snapped a piece of bacon and flew away.

Hermione had a feeling she knew who had sent this letter, and it wasn’t something she’d like to read in public. She tucked it into her book bag (next to a bottle of Veritaserum, coincidentally,) and continued munching on her toast. Harry seemed embroiled with his conversation, thankfully, and the little event passed without attention.

It seemed Rita Skeeter had replied.

Hermione took a modified schedule to her time-turning that day, so she could read Skeeter’s reply in her little classroom and send a reply directly. It was a Monday, so she had to go back for Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies. She could get O’s in her sleep for both of those classes, so she turned back the clock before the Halloween feast.

_Dear “Heroine,”_

_It’s so very_ lovely _to hear from you. Considering the situation, I will be happy to refrain from writing about you in the paper. I have to say, your letter surprised me. It’s not very heroic to blackmail a journalist, you know._

It continued to tell Hermione, or the Heroine, that she was going to pay for this one day, she didn’t know how she figured it out but she would kill her informant, she would go to hell, yadda yadda yadda. Hermione skipped down to the important bits.

_How do you want me to do my job, if you limit my stories and don’t contact me?_

_Yours truly,_

_Rita Skeeter_

_Writer at the Daily Prophet_

Hermione laughed at the letter. It might’ve been intended as an attempt to take back some semblance of power, but it came off more like a child whining about their favorite toy being taken away.

She crafted a quick reply.

_Dear Rita,_

_Thank you for the sweet letter. I am so pleased that you want to become closer. I have a few articles I want you to write. You’ll find that I am not interested in losing you your job, you’re much more useful where you are. Never fear. Although, you might fear if you do cross me, I’ve a letter already written to Rufus Scrimgeour, and after that article about his potential affair few months ago, he doesn’t seem to like you very much._

_Please meet me at the Leaky Cauldron in four days, I will be expecting you at promptly ten A.M._

_Sincerely,_

_The Heroine of Sussex_

Hermione folded the letter carefully and sealed it with a waxed H, just as she had with the last one. She chose Saturday as the best day for her to escape for a while, as she really had no obligations besides helping Harry with the fallout of the Goblet. She would just wind back to 9 AM, don her disguise, and ask Dobby to take her to the Leaky.

At five, she replaced her past self in an abandoned hallway and visited the owlry, choosing a nondescript barn owl and putting a notice-me-not on it for good measure. She didn’t want anyone to realize the owl was coming from Hogwarts. She wrote down her extra hours (ten) in her notebook and made her way to the common room to meet Harry and Ron.

The common room was a madhouse. Some people were telling their friends about what they’d do with the winnings from the Tournament, others were reveling in the idea of eternal glory, and even more were gossiping about who they thought would be champion.

Hermione saw Fred and George taking bets on who’s name would come out of the goblet. She hesitated for a moment, then walked over. She was at a happy one hundred and twenty galleons between the Quidditch World Cup and her parents pocket money, but a little extra security never hurt.

“Betting again, Hermione?” Fred said cheerfully. “Did you do more of those Arithmancy equations?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, just a good hunch. Has anyone bet for Cedric yet?”

“Cedric Diggory?”

“Our neighbor, you mean?”

“Good ol’ Ceddy?”

“That’s the one,” Hermione said cheerfully.

“How much’re you betting? The pot’s pretty big and there’s a lot of names in there. Don’t want to lose all your Cup earnings!”

“I’ll bet twenty galleons.” She said firmly, handing over a little bag.

George (she thought) dutifully wrote down her contributions, and Fred, (or maybe that was George,) tucked her coins into a larger chest. “Gutsy, but we’ve come to expect that from you!”

“Yeah, this little lion grew claws!” said George. “And here we were, thinking you’d be the next Percy. Twenty galleons for Cedric Diggory. If you’re sure?”

“Positive.” Hermione replied. She thought she saw Fred and George changing their own bet for Cedric, but she couldn’t be certain.

It seemed like the whole of Gryffindor House decided to troop down together, some cheering for Oliver or Angelica, the most popular candidates from Gryffindor. She met up with Harry and Ron on the way down, and they too were chatting about the Triwizard Tournament.

“Blimey, I could use a thousand galleons,” Ron said for the billionth time. “Still wish I could do it.”

“I don’t,” said Hermione darkly. “You’d both better hope no one put your name in as a joke. It’s going to be ever so dangerous.”

Harry looked a little nervous at that. “You mean you can put other people’s names in? And they’d still have to compete?”

“Oh yes, it’s happened before.” Hermione said, in a tone of voice that belied no argument. “There’s quite a bit of subterfuge in the history of the Triwizard Tournament. In fact, the 1663 Tournament saw all three champions entered by their headmasters or headmistresses. They hadn’t wanted to compete because of the death toll.”

She was certain that neither of them would have the patience to look up the truth, for she had completely invented that. “Anyway, I would be very cross if someone entered me. Not that I think I’d get picked. That would be much more like your luck, Harry.”

Ron gave a bark of laughter at that, and Hermione hoped this would keep their relationship a little less strained this time.

The feast passed unremarkably, for the most part. Anton and Margot seemed to be bored of the Ravenclaws and switched fully to the Gryffindor table. A lot of Durmastrang and Beuxbatons students followed their lead, and the students mingled between all four tables. Hermione hadn’t anticipated this much mixing, just from her actions, but she figured that it had more to do with Anton and Margot breaking the seal than her intervention.

They did ruffle a few feathers when they started insulting Hogwarts’ cooking, however, so Hermione engaged them in a conversation in French which went over much better.

All too soon, unfortunately, the Goblet started turning an ominous green. Victor, Fleur, and Cedric in turn got called up, and Hermione clapped hard for all of them. Everyone had returned to dessert, gossiping about the Goblet’s choices, when it turned green once more. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut in denial; but the hall was going quiet, and Dumbledore reached out and grabbed the slip of paper from the air.

“Harry Potter.” He said softly. The whole room gasped, and they seemed to be collectively holding their breath for what followed.

Harry’s face frowned in confusion and what she thought was annoyance. Hermione looked at him sadly. To her surprise, Ron slammed his hands on the table. It echoed in the silent room, and suddenly all eyes were on him.

“That’s bullshit!” He yelled loudly, eliciting more gasps. “You must’ve gotten it wrong, Professor!”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Weasley, I am not wrong. Harry Potter, would you please come here?” Dumbledore said calmly. This seemed to break the silence in the great hall, for everyone was suddenly whispering to one another frantically.

Hermione had never cared for Ron more than that moment, because he marched up with Harry to the head table. The whispers turned into a roar as Ron looked like he was trying to rip Dumbledore a new one. Harry just looked embarrassed, and eventually put a hand on Ron’s arm. He stopped abruptly, asked Harry something, and then stormed back to the Gryffindor table.

“He didn’t put his name in!” Screamed Ron loudly. “Who the hell put my best friend’s name in that Goblet? He didn’t want it!” It was barely heard over the noise in the Great Hall, but Hermione saw the students around them nodding their agreement.

Harry and Dumbledore disappeared into the room beside the head table, and chaos reigned. Ron was complaining hotly to her, and she nodded her agreement; the other students spread theories like wildfire, shouting and calling to one another over the din. Fruitlessly, Hermione saw Ludo Bagman try to get their attention. She saw him up at the head table but couldn’t make his voice out at all.

Finally, the man cast a _sonorous_ on himself. “Everyone, attention please!” he boomed, and all heads turned to look. It was silent in the hall, and Bagman’s voice echoed loudly.

“The champions and their sponsors are sorting everything out, everyone. There’s no need for alarm. Once the Goblet chooses a champion, they are _required_ to compete, no matter how their name got in! We will have _four_ champions this year, folks. We’re making Triwizard history!” At this announcement, the hall got even more rowdy.

Needless to say, it was a long time before anyone left the hall that night.


	23. Chapter 22 - A Chat with the Bat

Hermione didn’t know how she ended up curled in an armchair in Professor Snape’s quarters, sipping earl gray and telling him her life story, and yet there she was.

It all started when Hermione chose to stay in the Great Hall when the envoy of Gryffindors escorted Harry up to the common room.

She had good reasoning for staying behind, she had reasoned. Harry seemed to be in good company, as they were very indignant that someone had put his name in the goblet without his permission. Ron, in his usual boisterous manner, told anyone who would listen that Harry hadn’t put his name in, oftentimes to someone who already knew. She preferred to let things unfold, and hopefully Harry would be able to make a few allies without her interference. Instead, she ambled off to her abandoned classroom, intent on relaxing after her long day and perhaps brewing some burn potions.

Just as she was about to open the door, however, someone grabbed her arm.

Hermione whirled around, immediately drawing her wand. The hand stayed quite tightly on her left arm, and she was sure she would bruise. The figure was shrouded in dark, the torch down the hall not supplying enough light to identify her assailant.

“What do you want? Who are you?” Hermione said quickly.

The grip on Hermione’s arm faltered for a moment, and she broke free.

Lumos, she thought, and the angry face of Severus Snape appeared in front of her. “Snape? What do you want?”

“Tut tut, Miss Granger. Out after curfew, attacking a professor. Someone may get suspicious of your intentions. What exactly have you been doing in this classroom, hmm?”

Hermione kept her face blank. “The Gryffindor common room was too loud. I just wanted to get some peace and quiet.”

“Do not lie to me, girl,” Snape said darkly, “I have seen you entering and leaving this room for months, and the wards are stronger than any student should be able to cast.”

Hermione quirked her lips. So he hadn’t been able to get past her wards? “This is no laughing matter. I saw your occlumency shields, and I saw you, just now, cast silently. You’ve been acting abnormally enough that I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Someone in this castle put Mr. Potter’s name in the Goblet of Fire, and right now you are the most suspicious person in the school.

“That is saying something indeed, considering all of the questionable characters we are hosting. Now tell me, who are you?”

Hermione gaped. He thought she was being impersonated. “What do you mean, who am I? I’ve been your student for four years, Professor, surely you remember me?”

“Lacewing flies, boomslang skin, all sorts of ingredients have been going missing this year. And you’ve warded this room quite well, but you forgot to ward against smells. It takes more than a locked door to hide potions from a potions master.”

If the situation weren’t so dire, Hermione would laugh at the conclusions Snape came to. They weren’t really that illogical, but they were quite far off nonetheless. She decided that continuing to play dumb was her best move. “Listen, Professor, I don’t quite know why you think I’m to do with all of these things, but I’m really just Hermione Granger. I wouldn’t steal from a teacher, and I have absolutely no clue why you think I’d endanger my best friend.”

And maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t slept for around thirty-six hours, maybe it was the darkness of the corridor, or perhaps even her battle-ready reactions were slipping. Either way, when Snape threw a silent pertificus totalus, Hermione went down like a ton of bricks.

With a muttered mobilicorpus, he started levitating Hermione, presumably to the dungeons. “I don’t know who you are, but I will find out.”

She fought against the spell, closing her eyes – the only part of her she could move – and trying to regain the use of her limbs. But it was useless, and soon they were entering Snape’s office. Once inside, she was tied to a chair tightly, but released from the body bind.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Severus Snape?” Hermione screamed, struggling to escape from the ties. They seemed to be imbued with some sort of magic she hadn’t come across.

“We have exactly a quarter hour before your Polyjuice wears off, so if you don’t want me to kill you on sight when you change into whoever you are, you will start talking. Now.”

Hermione stared him down angrily, mindful of the wand pointed directly at her. “As I told you before, I am Hermione Granger.”

“Impossible.” Snape scoffed. “Hermione Granger acts nothing like you. She is an outspoken know-it-all, and has no occlumency shields like you.”

Hermione tried to think of a better explanation – anything, besides the truth, but she had no idea how to convince Snape that she wasn’t a threat. It might actually be worse if she waited and she didn’t transform at the end of the fifteen minutes; there was no way she could pass for a fifteen-year-old Hermione anymore, especially if he decided to use legilimancy, now that would be a disaster.

She ended up explaining a modified version of the truth. “Here me out, Snape. I am Hermione Granger. But- no, let me finish- I’m much older than the Hermione Granger you’ve known.” He looked at her quizzically, lifting a single brow, so she continued, “I’ve been using a time turner to take as many electives as possible. And don’t give me that look, Dumbledore did it too, so it’s allowed. What they don’t know is how much extra I’ve used the time turner.”

Snape considered her words, then shook his head, dismissing them. “It makes little sense, still. You can only travel back twenty-four hours with a time turner.”

“That’s true, but there’s actually no known limit on how many times one can go back and relive the same twenty-four hours.” Hermione replied. She hoped this was enough, he could accept that she’d learned much more than she was supposed to know because she had abused the time turner. She knew there were a few flaws in that explanation, however. It wouldn’t act as an answer, but if she could get away long enough to craft a better story, or obliviate him-

“This makes no sense. Unless you have a natural affinity for occlumency – which I know you do not – that still does not explain the skills you’ve learned in the mind arts. That method cannot be self-taught; I know, because I use it too. I’m weary of this foolishness. Reveal yourself, whoever you are, or I will find it for myself.”

Hermione glared at him, honey brown eyes meeting dark obsidian. “You really want to know? Do you? Come and look, then.”

Hermione lowered her occlumency shields, just enough for Snape to get past, and she felt the uncomfortable presence of another in her mind. The last time she had felt this was with Draco, as he was teaching her. She gave him what he wanted: her memories.

Millions of moments flashed through her mind. Hermione, seventeen, swore to help Harry find all the horcruxes and destroy Voldemort once and for all.

Harry, defeating Voldemort with the elder wand. The celebrations, the tears over their lost comrades – Remus, Tonks, Dobby, Snape – their dead bodies all flashed before her eyes as she cried into Ron’s shoulder. Grief, mingled with the relief of victory.

Her absolute horror when, instead of a wedding, she went to Harry’s funeral. Realizing Voldemort had returned once more.

Meeting Draco for the first time since Voldemort’s third return, her skepticism, her eventual trust in him; the icky feeling of learning occlumency, the hours and hours of practice they spent helping one another learn skills to survive.

Fighting Voldemort, again, face to face, screaming her revenge and throwing curse after curse.

Figuring out how he survived, yet again. The white face of Draco as he realized that the monster who had killed his parents had split his soul into a thousand pieces; their plans to travel back in time to first year, to start over, make things right –

Draco, laying in the Veil, stuck in the future; her pain over losing her friend, the realization that she had returned to the wrong year.

And sadness. Overwhelming, unending sadness that she was alone, and she was the only one who knew how to defeat Voldemort.

Snape recoiled sharply from her mind. The whole exchange had taken mere seconds, and Snape was only just processing Hermione’s true history. His face was more expressive than she’d ever seen it; horrified, a little fearful, and angry all at once.

“This is our future? The future of our world?” He said shakily.

“It was.” Hermione said gently. “It has already been altered more than you’d imagine.”

Snape seemed to be at a loss for words (a first, she noted), so Hermione expanded on the impressions he’d gotten. “You’re right, I didn’t learn occlumency on my own. Draco taught me three years ago. I learned that and warding out of necessity, and two years of battle. The resistance was dwindling – it was barely a hundred people, when Draco and I left.”

“And what of the Dark Lord? How did he return to life twice?”

Hermione sighed. She had a lot of explaining to do, it seemed. “Could you untie me, first? And perhaps some tea? This will be a long conversation.”

 


	24. Chapter 23 - Allegience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione continues her chat.

Hermione explained everything to Snape. She was surprised how much she wanted to share after the initial secret was out. Snape, to his credit, treated her much more like an equal than he had before, asking questions and respecting her opinions.

“Let me confirm, you’ve travelled back in time from 2000, where the Dark Lord has destroyed the entire Ministry, wrecked our culture, and instigated his own perverse government?” Snape said sardonically. “And you’ve uncovered that his secret to success is Horcruxes.”

“Yes, there are seven in all. Three have already been destroyed, thankfully.”

“Salazar,” Snape whispered. “Seven? Who in their right mind would create seven horcruxes? That leaves you with only one percent of soul!”

“That’s exactly the problem,” replied Hermione. “He wasn’t in his right mind. He still isn’t. But a horcrux isn’t destroyed if the host has come back to life, it’s just suspended. And when Voldemort returned, he actually had about 48% of his soul. Harry only destroyted 51% in our seventh year, when he used the Elder Wand to defeat him.”

“Oh yes, the unbeatable wand that Albus wields. And you said _I_ killed him?”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “Well, yes. In my sixth year.” He shook his head in disbelief. “But that’s not going to happen this time around. No one’s going to die. Well, besides Voldemort.”

“You cannot possibly ensure everyone’s safety, Miss Granger, nor do I think you should try.” Snape said, suddenly very grave. “We need to plan the most efficient way to kill the Dark Lord, once and for all. But it is impossible to prevent every death.” He seemed like he was speaking from experience. Hermione didn’t press, so simply nodded her assent.

“I’ve been concerned about changing too much, actually.” She had harrowed over every tiny decision, every way she acted differently; sometimes, she wondered if she had done something different out of sheer forgetfulness. There was no way to tell for sure.

“What have you been changing?” Snape said. He looked at her intently, but the gaze was belied by the cup of tea in his hands. Hermione had never met anyone who looked scary with a cup of tea in their hands – well, besides Umbridge – so she felt quite comfortable, curled up on his black leather armchair. The study was slightly dark, but well designed in a masculine sort of way, all dark wood and rich colors. She looked around at his numerous bookshelves to stall for time.

“Oh, just bits here and there. Do you remember Ron’s outburst in the Great Hall?”

Hermione swore that a snort escaped Snape, and he said drily, “I’m unlikely to forget it. The last time he made such a ruckus was with that Howler.” Hermione smiled fondly at the memory. She had been upset with them at the time, but driving a flying car to school _was_ pretty exciting.

“Last time around, he completely shunned Harry, practically turned the whole school against him. But they’re mostly little things, you know, so I still know what’s coming. I didn’t have my time turner last time, and of course I didn’t commandeer that classroom before. But mostly, it’s been about the Horcruxes. They’re the one thing that absolutely must change.”

“Ah yes, what are the Horcruxes? How did you destroy them?”

“Well, one of them was actually destroyed by Harry. It was possessing Ginny to open the Chamber of Secrets all those years ago. Or I suppose two years ago, for you. It’s been almost nine years for me. Anyway, I knew the diary had been dealt with, so I focused on the others. There was Slytherin’s locket that I retrieved from the Black house elf and a diadem from Ravenclaw, those are both gone now.”

Snape’s face had progressed from slight incredulity to absolute disbelief. “You mean the Dark Lord took magical artifacts from the _founders themselves_ to make into his horcruxes?”

“Yeah,” Hermione continued glumly. “There’s also Hufflepuff’s cup, and I think he’s made one out of a snake named Nagini by now.”

“That’s five. Where are the rest?” Snape said sharply.

Hermione grimaced. For all that Snape hated Harry, she didn’t think he would take the news well. “Well, the seventh is Voldemort himself, and the last horcrux, well, the last horcrux is Harry.”

“That is not an amusing joke, Miss Granger.” Snape said nastily. She seemed to have hit a sore spot, indeed, for his tone turned icy and cold. Like she had just made a particularly violate mistake in potions class and made his nose explode.

“I wish I was joking. I really do. We didn’t learn it until after, Ron and I. We didn’t know until Harry went and bloody sacrificed himself in the Forbidden Forest. But that’s a story for another day. I think we should both get some sleep.” Hermione was bone tired. It had been almost forty hours since she’d slept, and it had been the nervous sleep of someone with an important day ahead. Now it was catching up to her.

“Very well. I think it prudent to discuss this further with you, Miss Granger. My thanks for trusting me with this information.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Like you gave me a choice. But I think you may have some insight I haven’t thought of before.” She finished stiffly, not quite sure what to say.

“I would be willing to assist you with your plans, if you reveal them to me.” He said in finality. “Goodnight.”

He was a good choice of ally, even if she wouldn’t have approached him herself. She didn’t know how she felt about him as a person, but in all honesty, she no longer knew what she thought of herself as a person. Too many years of fighting had forced her into a stranger, someone her younger self would never approve of.

“Oh, before I go. I know you can keep this a secret, but I would be an idiot if I didn’t ask for some sort of secrecy.”

Snape nodded swiftly, accepting her precaution. “A Wizard’s Oath?”

“I have something better.” Hermione reached into her bag and pulling out a small vial. “This will ensure your secret stays quiet, even in the unlikely event that someone breaks your occlumency shields.”

“What potion is this?”

She smirked, realizing he was discomforted that he hadn’t recognized it. “I invented it. You put the memories you want guarded into the vial. They become reinforced and impenetrable when imbibed, rendering you incapable of speaking to anyone about the memory unless they were in it.”

“You cannot expect me to drink a potion I’ve never heard of before.” He said incredulously. Hermione figured she was lucky he hadn’t said ‘that you created.’

“You cannot expect me to allow my secrets to wander unguarded.” She met his eyes, which were as filled with steel as hers. She wasn’t going to back down from this; if he didn’t comply, she would use force. If that didn’t work, she would find

Snape scoffed. “No one could break it from my mind. It’s arguably safer in my mind than in yours.”

“That is true. But can I really trust that you’ll never decide to share the information – willingly – with someone? Headmaster Dumbledore, perhaps, or another you owe allegiance to?”

Grudgingly, Snape picked up the clear vial. “It’s been tested?” He said, inspecting it. “How did you create it?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Do you need to invade my mind again before you trust me? It became standard for the undercover Resistance members in the third rise of Voldemort. I’ve even used it, once or twice.”

Snape looked at the vial dubiously, seeming to contemplate the pros and cons. She knew he would do it – he wanted her to continue sharing information with him. Her knowledge was invaluable, and he was too good a Slytherin to pass up her information.

“Very well.” He closed his eyes and drew out a long, silver strand of memory, placing it carefully in the vial. As the silvery substance came into contact with the potion, it fizzled and shifted. A reddish haze emminated from the vial. Hermione looked away, knowing the light from this reaction would burn her eyes. When she looked back, Snape was blinking furiously, and the vial contained a shimmery gold liquid.

“Did it work?” Hermione said excitedly.

“I am in possession of the memory, and nothing seems to be wrong.” Snape said, lifting a brow in question.

Hermione internally sighed in relief. “Excellent,” she said aloud, then left the Potions Master’s quarters. It was late, and she was ready to get some much-needed sleep.

She would never tell him that it was actually the first time the potion had been used.


	25. Chapter 24 - Friend, Foe, or Ferret?

Hermione took one look at the clock, grumbled about over-inquisitive bats under her breath, and then immediately turned time back by ten hours. She was bloody  _ tired _ , and this would give her enough sleep to last the next, presumably long and arduous, day. She slipped into the little bed in her repurposed classroom and took a well-deserved rest.

Hermione spent the next few days almost exclusively at Harry’s side. As before, he said he didn’t put his name in the Goblet. With Ron’s exclamation in the great hall, everyone believed him. It seemed that the Weasley reputation of honesty was paying off in this case, and Hermione was pleased with the outcome.

The Gryffindors were split – half of them kept scheming different ways to get him out of it, and the other half was trying to convince him of the benefits. “So I told them I’d already gotten eternal glory, and didn’t fancy it much.” Harry explained at lunch. “I think they wanted to argue, but it’s made them leave me alone a bit more.”

“Do you think they would be willing to teach you a few spells, you know, the older students?” Hermione asked cautiously. “I mean, we have no idea what the tasks are. You might need to learn dueling, and we know the Dueling club was less than useless.”

Harry looked up in alarm. “You think they’ll make me duel seventh years?”

“Well, the fact is that you have to compete, right? You’re a champion.”

Harry snorted. “I wouldn’t call myself a champion. Better to think of me as a participant, then no one will have any expectations for me to win.”

Ron laughed at that, and the phrase quickly caught on (with a lot of help from Hermione, who shared the story with Pavarti and Lavender). She was sad, but not entirely surprised when Draco Malfoy cast Harry in a bad light.

“So, Potter, how do you like being the  _ champion _ that no one wants?” He sneered in the hallway, after catching Harry’s eye on their way from Defense.

Harry’s eyes flashed in anger, and Hermione replied snarkily, “Not as bad as you must feel, being the arrogant prick that no one likes. I mean, at least my parents loved me, and I’ve got some real friends at Hogwarts.”

“You take that back!” Malfoy yelled, brandishing his wand. “I am the heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy, and-“

“Oh stuff it, Malfoy.” Harry said, “Let’s go, Hermione. He’s not worth our time.” He turned his back to walk away.

At that moment, a familiar Death Eater-imposter turned the corner. “You stop right there, Malfoy!” Draco froze, and started to turn to Moody, wand still outstretched towards Harry, who had turned around by now. Hermione had no time to react before a loud  _ crack! _ sounded over the clearing, and Draco was replaced with a small, white ferret.

“Professor!” Hermione exclaimed before she could help herself. “What have you done?”

“He was about to attack Potter with his back turned, if any of you had  _ CONSTANT VIGILANCE! _ ” The students jumped, “you would’ve realized that. Clearly your Defense Against the Dark Arts training has been lacking in this.”

He flew the Malfoy-Ferret around for a few more minutes, and Hermione bit her lip to keep from saying anything. The other students – they had attracted quite the spectacle – were holding in various amounts of laughter. Some, like Ron, Seamus, and Dean, weren’t holding in anything, and were practically rolling on the floor. Harry looked torn between standing with Hermione and joining them. The longer the display went on, the more Harry frowned.

She was sure he was remembering what it was like to be bullied and reckoned that Crouch had lost some brownie points with this stunt (the opposite of his intentions). To her surprise, there seemed to be no end in sight, and she remembered that Professor McGonagall had intervened before.

Thankfully, another teacher crossed the hallway and intervened.

“What exactly is going on here, Alastor?” Said the silky voice of Severus Snape.

Crouch barely spared the man a glance. “Teaching.” He grunted.

“I hardly think corporeal punishment fitting. Instead, let’s find the source of all this commotion.” He met Hermione’s eyes briefly, and she sent him a tight grimace. With a wave of his wand, Draco returned to human form, looking quite red and disheveled.

“Mister Malfoy, what has happened here?”

“No-nothing, Professor Snape. We were having a little discussion, then Professor Moody turned me into a ferret.”

Crouch grunted again. “A little discussion where this rodent turned his wand on Potter with his back turned!” He and Snape looked at one another fiercely. Hermione was grateful that Snape didn’t yet know who Moody really was, or he may have reacted very differently.

“I imagine that Mister Potter should maintain vigilance. After all, he is now a  _ champion _ of our school. Mister Malfoy must have been offering to assist Potter.” Snape raised an eyebrow at the crowd that had formed, and no one was willing to speak out against him. “There seems to be no issue here, Alastor, besides your behavior. Attacking a student is quite unacceptable. We shall have to talk to the headmaster.”

Wasting no time, Snape whisked a raging Crouch towards Dumbledore’s office. The students were oddly silent, waiting for something else to happen. Hermione stepped forward, and suddenly all eyes were on her.

She walked over to Draco and held a hand out, half expecting to be rejected and called a Mudblood. He stared at her hand, unmoving, so Hermione explained, “That wasn’t right of him to do, Malfoy.”

To her surprise, Draco took the hand and allowed her to hoist him up. “Thanks, Granger.”

This seemed to be the breaking point for all the students, who were suddenly falling over themselves to get a word in about Hogwart’s latest gossip. Draco Malfoy taking the hand of the Gryffindor, muggleborn Hermione Granger? Had the Goblet of Fire turned the entire school mad?

Hermione gave Draco a small smile, turned on her heel, and walked back to Harry. She was certain he hadn’t missed the trust that he wouldn’t attack her when she turned her back, and wondered if she was doing the right thing.

When Harry didn’t object to her actions, she thought it could’ve been worse. She was being honest, it wasn’t right of Crouch to do the first time or in this timeline.

“Maybe I do need to start getting some pointers,” Harry said, as if the whole altercation had never happened. The rest of the students were watching them very closely, and Hermione pulled Harry towards the Great Hall. 

“Do you want me to see who’d be willing to help, Harry?” Hermione asked innocently. 

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Yeah I think that’d be good.” 

Hermione spent the next three days asking every Gryffindor she considered halfway decent to teach Harry something about duels, curses, or combative transfiguration. She had a big list of who could help him and when, but refrained from showing him the whole thing. He’d probably get too overwhelmed and back out. 

“Harry, Katie Bell said she’d be willing to teach you some shield charms this evening,” Hermione said during dinner. “I know we were planning to write our transfiguration essays tonight, but I think this is more important.”

Ron gasped. “Did I mishear? Did Hermione Granger just say something was more important than homework?”

“Oh come off it Ron. I sorted out my priorities a long time ago.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Plus, homework is  _ still _ quite important. It affects your grades you know!” 

Harry inched away slowly, sensing an argument coming on. “Erm, I’m gonna go meet up with Katie, guys.” He said quickly, and made his escape.

Hermione was pleased with both Harry’s willingness to learn from his classmates, and from their willingness to help him. It made them all a lot closer, she realized. Harry was a shy boy, even after all these years of being in the spotlight. He wasn’t one to go looking for new friends or to start a conversation, but if one was started around him, he was pretty comfortable joining in. 

Hermione was more than a bit of an introvert herself, but years of being forced to communicate with near strangers had toughened her. Harry had no such experience, at least not yet. If she had any luck, Harry would become more confident and more competent before the first task. 

Harry wasn’t the only person she was spending time with, these days. She found herself using her second go-rounds to speak more and more with Snape, who had an amazing mind for strategy. 

“Miss Granger,” he said the day after the Ferret incident. “You neglected to explain one important detail to me. If you did not put Mister Potter’s name in the Goblet of Fire, who did?”

Hermione frowned over her tea, which had become something of a tradition between them: plan for the future and sip earl grey. Snape’s lanky hair shrouded part of his face, but Hermione could see that he was concerned. “I must ask you first not to act. It’s imperative that this individual be allowed to continue.”

Snape’s face turned stony. “If you can provide logical reasoning, then very well.”

Hermione sighed and set her tea down. “The man you know as Alastor Moody isn’t what he seems.”

 


	26. Chapter 25 - Potions and Plots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Snape chat.

Hermione didn’t know what she expected when she told Snape about Moody’s true identity, but the small, vindictive victories he made over Crouch were enough to keep her both exasperated and amused. She figured since they hadn’t gotten along even before she told Snape about it, his renewed motivations to piss the Defense professor off would go unnoticed.

She did notice a particularly green tinge to Moody’s face when he sipped from his hip-flask, and wondered if Snape was purposefully contaminating his boomslang skin (it could taste incredibly nasty if left in a warm environment for too long).

She finally got the nerve up to ask Snape about this, one evening when she was explaining the third return of Voldemort. “I couldn’t help but notice, Snape, that Crouch has looked quite green recently. Have you been messing with his boomslang skin?”

Snape gave a characteristic smirk. “I give no quality gaurentees for the student stores. After all, a lot of dunderheads find themselves searching there.”

“Ah yes, I can see many students leaving a jar open in your frigid stores, and somehow warming enough to generate quite an odor.” Hermione said seriously. That got a smile – an actual, real smile! – from Snape.

“Unfortunately, I cannot spend all my time discussing the student stores,” he said, returning to his traditional stone-face. “I must ask you what your plans are for the rest of the horcruxes.”

Hermione sighed. “I wish I could bring you happy news about that, but I’m stalled right now. I know where Harry is, of course, but I need to run the equations for his survival. They need to be as close to foolproof as possible. There’s no way I can let Harry die.”

Snape titled his head in question, greasy hair moving with him like a sheet. “What have you thought of?”

Hermione shrugged. “I have a few options, none of them viable. In the last timeline, he let Voldemort kill him, and he only ended up killing the horcrux in his forehead. But there’s got to be a way to destroy a horcrux without killing the host. There’s got to be.”

“Have you considered casting the curse yourself?”

Hermione reeled back in shock. “You want me to kill Harry myself? Are you mad?”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Have you exercised your addiction to arithmancy with that question?”

“There is no question there. I couldn’t kill him!” She cried. “No, I haven’t run the numbers yet. I didn’t view that as a viable option.”

Snape stood, clasped his hands behind his back and looked at something on his desk. “That’s the thing, Miss Granger. When viable options fail us, we must get desperate. It’s that or simply give up, which I do not consider an option. I implore you, run the numbers.”

She frowned, but said, “I suppose there’s no harm in just making the equation. But I’m afraid that’s not the only challenge with the horcruxes. It seems like we have a lot of time, but the end of the year is approaching faster than I’d like.” Hermione wasn’t quite sure when she started considering them a team, but Snape had already proved himself a more capable and thoughtful ally than anyone else in this timeline, albeit one with sometimes terrible ideas.

“The fifth horcrux. Hufflepuff’s Cup. I have no idea where it is, if it’s where we found it last time, or how to get there.”

“Where was it in your last timeline?” Said Snape.

“Oh, it was in the Lestrange vault in Gringotts. I just don’t think we have a good way of getting in there, and I can’t imagine breaking in just to find that it’s not there.” Hermione mused.

Snape looked shocked. “You broke into Gringotts? And survived to tell the tale?”

“Oh yes,” Hermione waved it off. “That’s not the important part. The thing is, I don’t even know if it’s there or not. What if Voldemort only gave it to Bellatrix after he broke her out of Azkaban?”

“Bellatrix Lestrange broke out of Azkaban?” Snape said, whispering in what Hermione could guess was fear. “That crazy bitch should have gotten the Kiss.”

“Oh I quite agree. In my last lifetime, I had quite a few lovely scars from her. The most memorable spelled out ‘mudblood.” She stroked her arm absently. The scar was gone, but the memory would never leave her. It wasn’t her first scar or her last, but it left the biggest impression.

“So you’re looking for a cup?” Snape said, seemingly uncomfortable with the topic. “What does it look like?”

“It’s just a gold goblet with handles. Pretty unremarkable, as it were. But I’m sure it’s in a book somewhere. By the time we had it last time, we were so far away from a book that I couldn’t cross-check what it looked like, but I’m sure I could look –”

“No need.” Interrupted Snape rudely. “I know just what you’re speaking of. After I… shared the prophecy with the Dark Lord, he rewarded me with a special task involving a golden cup. I know precicely where it is.”

Hermione gasped. “You’re kidding! What are the odds that you’d be the death eater he trusted – no offence, of course – but that’s quite a boon!”

“I wasn’t a spy at the time, if you recall. He had much more trust in me before I was teaching and living behind enemy lines. Or perhaps his mind was going, and he had split his soul one too many times.”

“This is excellent!” Hermione said excitedly. “Where is it?”

Snape hesitated. “I can go myself, Miss Granger. I have the location, and I can retrieve it with much more ease than you.”

Hermione twisted her hands in her lap. “Thank you for your help, but I’d like to come. I need to be certain that it’s really Hufflepuff’s cup.”

“Do you not trust me, Granger?” Snape said, voice dangerously dark.

“It’s not that I don’t trust your skills and information, but I don’t think you should go alone.”

“So you do not trust me.” Snape said, continuing before she could deny it once more. “Good, I almost took you for a fool.” Hermione opened her mouth in denial once more, but he stopped her yet again. “I do not demand your trust, Miss Granger. I am satisfied that you included me in your planning. I want the Dark Lord gone as much as you do.”

Hermione nodded briskly. “Well then, that’s good. Brilliant. So we’ll go together?”

She had the briefest of thoughts that she had just been tested, and realized he probably wanted to make sure her ‘Gryffindor sensibilities’ didn’t get in the way of common sense. Thankfully, Hermione had more common sense than the rest of her year combined.

“Very well,” said Snape. “But it will have to wait until Yule, when we are no longer watched very closely.”

Hermione smiled broadly. “It’s settled. Thank you, Snape.”

Without another word, (Snape held no ceremony on goodbyes, a practice Hermione was happy to follow) she left for her classroom, which currently hosted a bubbling cauldron and a few chalkboards filled with arithmancy equations, Elder Futhark runes, and little notes. Hermione took no time to collapse in her transfigured bed, and drifted happily off to sleep.

* * *

 

The next morning was a tiring one, for all that it was a Friday. The students were rowdier than usual, anticipating the weekend. It was a Hogsmeade Weekend, and she was certain her peers had slept dreaming of sugar quills and dungbombs. She envied them, she realized. She wished she was as innocent, as untouched, as they were.

Hermione shook off her morose thoughts and dutifully followed Harry around. He seemed moody, and she breeched the topic lightly, on the way to double potions.

“How are you, Harry? You look a little… off.”

Harry gave an attempt at a smile but looked down quickly. “I’m worried about this stupid tournament. Merlin, I can’t even learn the spells the Gryffindors have been teaching me. How am I supposed to survive whatever they throw at me?”

Hermione put a hand on his arm comfortingly. He flinched slightly, but didn’t shake her off. “Oh Harry, it’s not fair, what they’ve done to you. You shouldn’t have to participate at all. What have you not been able to learn?”

Harry frowned. “They’re teaching me Defense Against the Dark Arts spells, ‘Mione. I should be able to get them! That’s my best subject.”

“Why don’t we practice for a while? No new spells, just the ones your working on.” She muttered over her cauldron. Snape was looking at them sharply, but hadn’t yet said anything.

“How will you know them, Hermione? Erm, no offense, but they’re a bit above your level.” He looked at her guiltily. She shrugged it off.

“I know I’m not the best at Defense, but maybe you can teach me what you’ve been learning. Did you know you learn 22% better when you teach someone else?” She added for good measure.

That got a chuckle out of Harry. “I didn’t know that.”

At that moment, a small first year knocked on the door and announced the Weighing of the Wands.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the “mudblood” scar didn’t happen in the books, but I decided to include it because it was a really powerful scene.


	27. Chapter 26 - The Heroine's Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione goes on a little journey to Diagon Ally.

Hermione sat very still in the remainder of potions class, after Harry was pulled away to the weighing of the wands. Snape had scowled and sent him off with some insults about his new status as “champion,” which Harry took without comment, to her relief. She wanted to intervene, but to do that, she’d have to travel back and relive the last day – if she didn’t go now, she would have to run the risk of interacting with Harry later.

That wouldn’t do. She hadn’t a clue how her gambol would end, so any interactions with the outside world would potentially compromise the timeline. She looked up at Snape, who was sitting at his desk haughtily, sulking after Harry’s newest claim to fame.

He was a petty man, that was for sure, but it didn’t stop him from being a useful ally. She caught his eye, and he tilted his head the tiniest fraction of an inch. Wondering what she was scheming, no doubt. She kept her expression carefully blank. He didn’t need to know she was involved.

As class ended, Hermione bolted out the door right in front of Neville and behind Ron. “I’m going to the library, got to look up something,” she said briefly, and tore down the hallway before either really processed what was happening.

Hermione knew this was a potentially foolhardy plan. She didn’t  _ need _ to go meet Rita Skeeter before the meeting; she didn’t even need Harry to be in good standing with the rest of the school. But she wanted to. It was a prideful decision, to fix Harry’s reputation (and hers, if she was being honest with herself. It was probably a toss-up, who Skeeter had dragged through the mud worse in their fourth year). But she had the power to fix it, and something inside her wouldn’t let her stand by. Not when she had the Heroine of Sussex persona and a time turner in her pocket. She had the power to fix it, so fix it she would.

So she found herself in the room next to her abandoned classroom – her favorite spot to turn time, since she knew no one ever went in here – and turned time. The spells to disillusion herself, hide her smell and her sound, were practically second nature. Her swift pace to the gates of Hogwarts was similarly achieved with ease (she had been exercising since she woke up in the Hospital wing, and she bet she could arm-wrestle both of her boys without a struggle at this point).

After that, it was a matter of getting transport to the Ministry. She couldn’t do magic outside of school quite yet, so before she stepped outside the gates, she made a Portkey out of an unassuming pebble. It would take her right to the Leaky Cauldron.  _ “Portus!”  _ she said sharply. That would take her to Diagon Ally and back to the gates.

Hermione sighed, cast the spells to her Heroine of Sussex persona, and opened the lock to Hogwarts with a charm she had no right to know. It was time to go have a chat with Rita.

The Leaky Cauldron was bustling, as much as it could on a Friday morning. Sleepy guests were sipping porridge and coffee, tables were flying to seat incoming patrons, and old Tom was washing dishes as some eggs and bacon cooked themselves on the frying pan. She couldn’t help but smile, although it looked more like a grimace on her transfigured face. It was nice to see the Wizarding community so very happy and calm. It reminded her very little of their later years at Hogwarts, and not at all like the ghost town after Voldemort’s third rise.

She tapped the bricks to Diagon purposefully, and was thankful no one noticed her face. She supposed her fifteen minutes of fame were over, for the most part. No matter. She strode towards the Daily Prophet and walked in, ignoring the receptionist with the pesky sign-in sheet.

Rita was one of their most prized writers. She would have a cushy office somewhere, and it would be in the directory. Hermione took the elevator to the third floor, cast a “ _ Point me _ , Rita Skeeter!” and was on her way. Left down one hallway, then right down the next. Finally she got to a surprisingly small office and tore open the door unceremoniously.

“Rita, we need to have a chat.” Hermione said in a low voice.

Rita Skeeter was a very intimidating woman when she set her mind to it. She dressed to impress, and looked something like a shiny vulture when she was in public. Here, in her office, she looked less like a vulture and more like an overgrown parrot. Not at all daunting. Or perhaps it was the fear in her face when she looked at the intruder and cowered.

“Oh, it’s  _ you _ .” Skeeter sneered, trying to save face. “What do you want now, hmm? Come to ruin my career again?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, Rita. I need a favor.”

“A favor?” She perked up slightly. Favors implied some sort of give and take, and Rita wasn’t above selling her soul for a favor from an important person.

“Yes, I have some plans for the Tournament, and I want to ensure the proper… angle, shall we say, is taken on tomorrow’s article.” Hermione enjoyed the way the woman flinched when she spoke. Hermione was, perhaps, getting a bit too much enjoyment out of this.

“How did you know I was writing an article on the Tournament?” Rita asked suspiciously.

“Oh please, dear little Rita. It’s hardly difficult to figure out. So, are you ready to listen to my guidelines?”

Skeeter paused, seeming to battle with herself. “What’s in it for me?” She said finally.

“Well, for one, you won’t be going to Azkaban. Did you know you have to serve an equal amount of time in prison that you hid your Animagus form for? How many years has it been now, Rita?”

She scowled silently, but Hermione could see that the news concerned her. “I would’ve checked that, before I became an  _ illegal _ animagus.”

_ “Shhh!” _ Skeeter hissed, “Or someone will hear!”

“Well that’s your problem then, isn’t it? Since you’ve been such a good girl, I’ll even throw in an interview for you. With me, the Heroine of Sussex. As long as you follow my guidelines, of course.”

Skeeter looked dejected. “What are your guidelines, then?”

Hermione smirked evilly. “Well, thank you for asking, Rita dear! First, I want you to write about the competitors equally, and give accurate backgrounds on each of them. Start with Cedric Diggory, then do Delacour, then Krum, and  _ then  _ Harry Potter. And let me see- where is that Quick Quotes Quill? Can you let me take a look at it, Rita?”

Hermione was  _ definitely _ enjoying this too much, she decided, for Skeeter looked like someone was about to snap her wand as she handed over the quill. Hermione held it delicately. “What a remarkable piece of charms work!” She said happily. “Why, did you do this yourself, Rita? This is marvelous!” She shook her head, seeming to have no words for the situation. “Well, let me see here. The spells seem to focus on translating spoken word to the most sensational versions, using the past articles of the Daily Prophet as a reference. Oh my, it actually seems to have a connection to you! Incredible. Well it’d be best to dispel the altering charms, for that really does get in the way of good reporting. And lets see…” Hermione closed her eyes, examining the charms in her mind.

“Well you’ve got something quite good here, Rita, but you’d be much better off just simply recording the words that are said. I’ll keep the nice function that identifies the speaker, it wouldn’t do to give a quote to the wrong person! And yes,” she pulled some of the charms away, and cast a quick spell to re-weave the remaining spells. “There we are. A new and improved Dictating Quill.”

Skeeter’s jaw dropped. “You, you can’t  _ do that!” _ She screamed.

“I think you’ll find that I did.” She raised an eyebrow.

“No, I mean, that takes a  _ mastery _ in spellcraft! And I’ve searched for you everywhere, there’s no one fitting your description that got a mastery in  _ anything.  _ The records don’t even have you attending Hogwarts, much less joining a guild. Who in Morgana’s name are you?”

Hermione chuckled. “Oh Rita-dear, you don’t  _ need _ a mastery to weave charms. It’s pretty basic stuff, I’m sure you could do it after about four years of practice and a lot of determination. But we’re missing the point. Will you accept my requests?”

“Fine.” Rita said, defeat coloring her tone. She was slightly slumped in her chair, glasses askew and still holding her destroyed Quick Quotes Quill. “I’ll owl you the finished articles tonight. But if you can’t get them to me by tomorrow at 6 AM, the deal’s off.” She said in a last-ditch attempt to dissuade Hermione.

Hermione chuckled. “Oh, I think you’ll find I have time to spare. Now about that interview…”

Break

Hermione returned to Hogwarts without a hitch: just in time to catch her Arithmancy class. She was slightly out of breath, for she had to run across the grounds to make it. Her “interview” with Rita Skeeter was a lengthy one, and she was certain Skeeter would find some way to get a few digs in. She didn’t mind very much, so long as the public never learned her identity, the Heroine could be dragged through the mud. She giggled to herself, thinking about how torn up Skeeter would have been after their meeting.

Ernie Macmillan, her usual partner in Arithmancy class, gave her an odd look, but she shook it off. Her mood couldn’t be dimmed today.

Once again, Professor Vector gave them quite basic equations, which Hermione quietly finished in the first ten minutes of class. She slipped the completed assignments under another piece of parchment, for Ernie was still looking at her funny, and started her familiar, monsterous equation for horcrux finding. Perhaps today would be her lucky day.

She double-checked her numbers, balanced the problem with all the known factors, and muttered the charm to activate the equation. To her delight, a 89% success rate appeared at the bottom, when she put her, Dobby, and Snape against the ring horcrux. She cast it once more for good measure, and the 89% appeared yet again. A brilliant smile covered her features. She had done it! She had finally balanced the equation correctly, and her equations were no longer coming up wonky. This really was a lucky day.

“Miss Granger, how are you doing on the equations?” Professor Vector said mildly. Her grin must have attracted her attention, and she had come over to her after helping Hannah Abbot.

“Oh, I’m finished with them,” Hermione said quickly, pulling her finished parchment on top of her equations. Vector leaned over her shoulder, checking her work.

She nodded, straightened and said, “Good work as always, Miss Granger. Twenty points to Gryffindor for finishing first.” She leaned back down for a second, and added more quietly, “and congratulations on completing your side-project. I’m glad you found the missing variable.”

Hermione blushed, half at the compliment and half at being caught in the act of doing other work during class. Dutifully, she said, “Thank you, Professor Vector. I did.”

She left the classroom happily humming, and even with Harry’s complaining that they had all been interviewed by “some lady” for the Daily Prophet, and Ron’s incredulousness that he’d be upset at media attention, she was still cheerful. She received the articles at about nine that evening, and was all too happy to owl back her approval. She had to keep herself from laughing maniacally when she read the headings:

“The Triwizard Tournament:  _ Three  _ Champions, an Extra Participant, and One Huge Mistake!”

“The Heroine of Sussex: The Most Dangerous Witch in Britain?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The description of spellweaving is an homage to EmySabath’s Time to Spare, which I highly recommend you read! It's on FFN. Thank you for all your support!


	28. Chapter 27 - Dragons

Hermione sat at breakfast the next morning, eagerly awaiting the post. She must have seemed more cheerful than usual, for Neville nudged her gently and asked what happened.

She brushed it off easily, saying, “Oh, I’m waiting for a letter from my parents. They might take me skiing this winter.” This had the happy effect of confusing Neville, and Hermione spent the next few minutes explaining what skis were. By the time the owls flew in, she had almost forgotten her excitement.

The arrival of the owl post was always a messy affair. The sky, usually a sunny blue dotted with grays and whites, was flooded with owls of every color, and the occasional raven or eagle. Today, the Prophet owls were easily identifiable by their heavy loads: the Prophet was bigger than usual today, and it showed in each heavy flap of an owl’s wings.

Hermione’s Prophet landed in front of her, and she was treated to the sight of a very familiar article, combined with a rather slapdash picture of the champions.

Looking over her shoulder, Neville noticed the photo and exclaimed, “Look at this, Harry, you’ve gotten the front page!”

“Cor blimey, Harry, that’s wicked – erm, I mean, bloody aweful!” Said Ron, who changed his tune quickly when he saw Harry’s dark look.

“Why is it always me?” Harry whined, picking at his toast. Hermione privately thought he should be greatful that it wasn’t solely his photo taking up the front page, but of course couldn’t say anything at all.

“I hear you, mate,” Neville said sadly. “You’d think there was more important news than a school tournament.”

Hermione frowned, considering his words. “It is a bit dodgy, isn’t it, publicizing these schoolchildren’s lives like this? Before the age line existed – for all the good it did, clearly – they would’ve had champions potentially as young as eleven! That’s far too young.”

“D’you think I could make that argument to the Goblet of ruddy Fire?” said Harry. “This tournament is nothing but trouble. I don’t know about you all, but  _ I’m  _ rooting for Cedric.”

The students in the seats around them all reeled back in shock. They all understood that Harry didn’t want to be in the tournament, but it was a different story altogether to actively root for another competitor. Hermione was proud of Harry; if he was to be believed, he had to make quite a strong statement against the whole situation. Otherwise public opinion, fickle as it was, would eventually turn against him.

“Just stay alive, Harry. We’re your friends no matter what.” Hermione said strongly. Around her, Ron, Neville, and even Ginny nodded.

“Yeah, mate, imagine if you just turned up and did nothing at each of the tasks? I bet the Marauders would be jealous – they’ve never pranked the entire world before  !” Ron said, being surprisingly understanding.

Harry laughed heartily. “Yeah, I’m not a champion, I’m just a participant. They might reconsider this stupid game after that!”

Hermione leaned over, quickly casting a  _ muffliato _ . “Harry, maybe you should talk to one of the Marauders.” She spoke quietly. “You know, he may have some good ideas.”

“I’ve got to wait for him to floo me, Hermione. Hedwig is too conspicuous. And he hasn’t yet. He said he’d stay in Berlin after all, even though he wanted to follow me back here to keep an eye on me. He’s such a worrier.” Harry said, a glint in his eye. Hermione could tell just how much he loved his godfather: he loved having a parental figure, having someone to turn to when he was worried or upset, and most of all, having somewhere else to go than the Dursleys.

“Maybe you don’t,” Hermione said consideringly. “There’s other manners of communication, you know.” She was thinking of the two-way mirrors, and although she didn’t want to give up her own contact with Sirius, she could see him wanting to talk to Harry without the threat of being caught in the Floo network.

“What d’you mean?” Harry cocked his head. “Besides the Floo?”

Hermione scoffed. “Of course, Harry. If you had to choose between communicating daily through a chimney or something like a mirror, which would you choose? Anyways, it’s a Hogsmeade weekend! We can look through the shops, maybe we’ll find something.”

“Hermione, you’re brilliant!” Harry said happily, and leaned over to give her a half-hug. She received it happily.

They did manage to find some two-way mirrors at Hogsmeade. They were a total of twelve galleons, which made Hermione flinch, but Harry paid it easily. The trio, plus Neville, who decided to tag along, had been wandering around the little town for an hour. Hermione was reveling in the peace of the day, and when Ron recommended the Three Broomsticks, she was all too happy to oblige.

As they walked in, Hermione noticed Ludo Bagman in the corner, talking to some goblins, as well as some professors gathering for a cuppa. Hagrid was among them, and he pulled Harry aside in a very unsubtle manner. Hermione remembered with a jolt that this was when Harry would learn about the dragons, and sadly prepared herself for the peace between them to shatter that evening.

In the meantime, however, Hermione was determined to enjoy her few minutes of peace.

“Oy, Ginny! Luna!” Yelled Ron across the pub. Ginny, Luna, and a third-year Hufflepuff had jsut walked into the pub, and everyone scooted to make room for them.

“Hello Hermione Granger,” said Luna serenely. “It is very nice to see you again.”

“It doesn’t happen nearly often enough, Luna!” Hermione said, giving her a wide smile. “How’re your housemates treating you?”

Luna replied evenly, “Oh, quite nicely. I haven’t even lost anything this year, you know.”

That caught the rest of the table’s attention, and Ron asked through a sandwich, “What ‘appened?”

“Some other students weren’t appreciating Luna enough,” said Hermione. “I convinced them that she was a very interesting person.” With that, she returned to her own sandwich, clearly closing the conversation.

“Women,” said Ron sagely, to Neville. “They get scarier as they get older, I tell you!”

Ginny slapped Ron’s arm and rolled her eyes. “Oh shove off, Ron. You’re just a wimp.” Her statement was confirmed when Ron yelped at the impact. “Always has been, especially when you catch him around spiders,” She said to her Hufflepuff friend, who grinned.

“Oi!” said Ron indignantly. “What is this, team up on Ron day?”

They all laughed, and Hermione let herself laugh along cheerfully. It was heartwarming to be around friends, and for the first time since she came back, Hermione thought she might just feel at home in this time period. All was right in the world, even if it was just this one moment. When Harry returned from his talk with Hagrid, he gave her a big grin and joined in their friendly bickering. It was about as good as life could be.  

Like all things, unfortunately, the cheer didn’t last. Harry left under his invisibility cloak that evening. Hermione and Ron waited for him in the common room, playing a game of Wizard’s chess (which Ron was winning, aggravatingly).

He came back at almost midnight, after everyone else had wandered back to their dormitories. Hermione was reading a book, while Ron was playing another game of chess against the white pieces. “Blimey, mate. You look like you just ran a mile!”

Harry, panting, dropped into one of the cozy leather chairs. “I did. I just ran here from the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid showed me what the first task’s gonna be. Merlin, I can’t believe it.” He said, breath finally starting to even out.

“What is it?” Hermione asked, pretending to be worried.

“Dragons.” Said Harry simply. “The first task is Dragons.”*

Ron summed it up the best: “Shite.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> *I try my best to keep away from the exact wording of canon, both for the fact that I don’t own them, and because it’s rare for people to say the exact same thing in the exact same way every time. Here, though, I’ve lifted straight from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.


	29. Chapter 28 - Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione struggles with her inability to act before the first task.

As the first task drew ever closer, Hermione stuck by Harry’s side like moss to a fallen tree. He was getting increasingly more nervous, and Hermione could understand why. The stress was hitting him hard, between classes and what he saw as his impending doom. More and more Hogwarts students were giving him pitying looks, or coming up and patting him on the back with words of consolation.

They told him that he’d be fine, that surely the judges wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him, and that they’d cheer for him even though they didn’t expect anything out of him.

This made Harry feel arguably worse, so Hermione started dragging Harry to empty classrooms and practicing more and more spells. “I think you can use an _aguamenti_ as a shield, Harry, if you shape it right. You know, that will protect you for at least a moment from dragon fire. See, look at this-“

Hermione raised her wand and twirled it. “ _Aguamenti_!” She said loudly, and directed the water to pour outward, making a thin layer in front of her. It looked like the surface of a pristine lake, for only the slow ripples of the shield expanding blocked her view of the rest of the room. She saw, slightly warped, Harry’s gobsmacked face.

“Bloody _hell_ , Hermione! I didn’t know magic could do that!”

Hermione smiled, “Oh yes, I read about it in a sixth-year charms textbook. It’s quite intriguing, isn’t it? Here’s how you cast it…”

She was always very careful to justify exactly _how_ she had all this extra knowledge. Harry would never question Hermione reading ahead, but if she gave no explanation at all, he might have started to wonder where she was coming up with all these ideas. And to be fair, she _did_ read about water manipulation in sixth-year. It certainly wasn’t the assigned textbook, but she figured it was close enough.

Hermione really wanted Harry to be confident in himself, to start valuing his own skills and gain faith in himself. He had such horrible self-confidence until about sixth year last time around, and even then it was mood-dependent and spotty. The good thing about the tournament, if anything was truly good about it, was the fact that Harry had motivation to learn advanced spells and become more confident in his abilities. The tasks would force him to become more confident, and he was already so much more stable because of his improved relationship with Sirius.

Sirius had received the two-way mirror from Hogsmeade, to Harry’s delight, and they spoke quite frequently now. This had the unfortunate side effect of Sirius realizing just how little Hermione told Harry. He had almost immediately contacted Hermione via her mirror after his first discussion with Harry.

“Hermione.” He said, a bit less cheerful than he usually greeted her. “Long time no see. I’ve got a question for you.”

In some ways, Hermione wished everyone was as upfront about their problems as Sirius was. If he didn’t like you, or didn’t like something you were doing, it was almost always met with swift retribution or discussion. At the moment, however, she wasn’t looking forward to his questioning.

“Hello Sirius, how is Berlin treating you?”

Sirius scowled. “Berlin is fine. I’ve half a mind to come back to Britain, though. I just saw the news about this _tournament_. What the bloody hell was Dumbledore thinking? And what were you thinking, not telling me about it the _moment_ it happened?”

Hermione looked away from the mirror guiltily. She hadn’t kept Sirius in the loop, not even close. It honestly hadn’t crossed her mind, between Snape, Rita, and training Harry. Not to mention her own day-to-day schedule was as crazy as it was varied. “I’m sorry, Sirius. I should have, it’s just been a bit crazy around here.”

Sirius’s brows were furrowed darkly, lips tightening in annoyance. “That’s not good enough, Hermione. It seems you’ve been too busy to tell Harry anything about your helping me, too. He didn’t even know how much you’ve helped me this past summer!”

Hermione winced. That was very true, she hadn’t even told Harry she helped Sirius at all. Only Dobby had mentioned to Harry how Hermione sent him to Sirius’s in Berlin, and she was fairly certain Sirius hadn’t said anything about her during the summer. She sighed, and got ready for a long conversation. “Harry’s my best friend,” she started, “and I know him almost better than anyone. He’d try to pay me back for helping you out, or feel guilty all year because I thought to send you a mirror and a wand, while he didn’t. He’s a wonderful person, but he has, well, a _saving people thing,_ I think. It’s really hard for him to accept help. As for not keeping you updated, Sirius, I’m really sorry. I forget that you’re probably as invested in him as I am.”

Sirius nodded, his face softening as she spoke. “It’s ok, Hermione. I’m sorry to be so short with you, I know you’re doing your best.” Hermione felt a twinge of guilt as he accepted her reasoning. She was still keeping secrets, it seemed. She didn’t know if they would ever end.

Sirius seemed to think about something, and a wide smirk covered his face. “Do I detect a little crush on your best friend, Miss Granger?” He teased. “You have done an awful lot to help him, and Harry says you’re constantly at his side…”

“Of course not!” Hermione denied quickly. “He’s just a friend. My best friend, true, but nothing more.” She blushed slightly, wondering if other people thought she was acting out of a one-sided crush.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Sirius waggled his eyebrows. “I don’t know if you realize, Hermione, I’m smarter than most with the ladies. I know that face, and that’s the face of someone who’s just been called out.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh come off it, Sirius. Aren’t you a little old for that?”

Sirius held a hand over his heart in mock-affront. “I’m insulted! Old? You call this face old? And these luscious locks? Why, I never!”

They broke into laughter.

Hermione had never been so at peace –the light laughter between their mended relationship really was the icing on the cake for her. Hermione promised to keep Sirius updated about the tournament, and Sirius apologized yet again about doubting her. She dutifully kept in touch with him for the days following their conversation, telling him about the dragons and Harry’s training.

Harry was studying like hell to beat the dragon, getting tips from Sirius, Hermione, and the occasional Gryffindor. The house had become fiercely protective of Harry and any insults he received, but Harry was being quite gracious in shutting down any arguments between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. The Slytherins definitely sided with Cedric, sporting the familiar _Support Cedric Diggory: The Real Hogwarts Champion!_ On badges across their chests. The Ravenclaws seemed split – some of them considered Harry an invalid champion because he was technically fourth, while others bet for him in the competition (those were generally not students in Harry’s year, who had seen his unfortunately lackluster work ethic).

Sirius was a useful source of information about Harry as well, because Harry told Sirius much more about his feelings than he did Hermione. Apparently Harry didn’t want her to worry about him (typical!) and so hadn’t told her that he was afraid of messing up all the spells. Instead, he said, Harry was learning the _Accio_ charm from an upperclassman and planned to summon his broomstick if he wasn’t doing well.

Hermione felt deeply troubled by this. Why wouldn’t Harry tell her? She knew she was a good source of advice for him; hell, she had been his advisor, mentor, and steadfast friend ever since the whole tournament debacle began.

“You seem upset, Hermione. Is everything good at Hogwarts?” Sirius said one night, about five days before the task.

“Oh yes, Sirius, I’m quite fine. Just worried for Harry, is all.”

“It seems like you’re a little more than just worried for him. You’re not _actually_ crushing on him, are you? I know for a fact he’s got his sights set on a Ravenclaw.” Sirius said in a quasi-joking manner.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m not meriting that with a response, Sirius. I’m a little upset that he’s not telling me about all of these challenges, is all. I could help him.”

Sirius shook his head at her sadly. “You said it yourself, Hermione. Harry’s got a saving people thing. He sees you working hard to help him, and doesn’t want to burden you anymore than he already has. He’s told me you seem stressed, and frankly I agree.” Sirius gave her an oddly paternal glare through the mirror, which Hermione found odd considering he was mentally only twelve years older than her.

“Hermione, Harry will be fine. How could he not be, with me looking out for him?” He tossed his hair dramatically behind him, and Hermione couldn’t help but giggle. “If you’re still using that time turner from last year, I recommend you slow down a little bit. You look like you’re aging before my eyes, and the stress isn’t helping.”

Hermione must have been giving him the most astounded look, for he looked a bit defensive. “What, there’s a reason my name is Sirius!”

Hermione hung up on him.

There might have been a hint of truth to Sirius’s words. She had been pushing herself quite hard recently. It was hard to let herself sit back and wait, despite the importance of keeping the timeline the same. She used to calculate the potential outcomes of her actions fairly rigorously, just to make sure she wouldn’t be disrupting the timeline too much, but it was becoming tedious to watch her every move. She had been through a lot, but this was a whole different kind of struggle.

No, this was more like being a spy than being a soldier, and Hermione decided right then and there she was no spy. She would do what she had to do, but only until Voldemort was well and truly gone.

Not for the first time, she found herself doodling Arithmancy equations in the corners of her notes instead of paying attention in class – checking for her odds of killing Voldemort herself, Harry’s odds of surviving the graveyard, Harry’s odds of killing Voldemort – it was starting to become overwhelming, how much she was juggling.

Four nights before the first task, Hermione found herself wandering down to Snape’s office. If anyone would understand why she was feeling stressed, it was him. Snape had walked a tightrope after turning to Dumbledore in the first war, and he was the only one who knew the whole story. In short, he was the only ally she could go to. She knocked on his door at almost eight that evening.

He opened it sharply, only taking a few scant seconds to get the door. “Miss Granger,” he said, eyebrows raised in surprise. “What brings you here?”

Hermione sighed and twisted her fingers nervously – a habit she had never broken – and said, “I need advice. May I come in?”

“Certainly,” Snape said, and moved over to allow her entry. “Does this have anything to do with the upcoming task, by any chance? If so, you know I cannot aide you or Mr. Potter.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, I think that’s well in hand. This is more of a… time related issue.”

“Ah.” Snape flicked his wand, and suddenly two teacups were soaring towards them, and steaming water flowed into a teapot nearby. “What has occurred?”

Hermione wrung her hands anxiously, doubting the wisdom of coming this evening. “I am… concerned.” She started. “I truly have no tasks besides making sure all three horcruxes are destroyed, and I find myself having trouble, well, _not_ affecting the timeline. I know the main events well enough to remain the same, but the thing is, I haven’t the foggiest idea how much I’m changing, and how exactly to-“

Snape cut her off. “Miss Granger. You’re rambling.”

She put a hand over her mouth in surprise. “Sorry, Snape.” She said. “It’s just that I feel quite useless until the final task, and it’s become tiresome to juggle all these secrets. How in the bloody hell did you do it?”

Snape tilted his head in a silent question. “You refer to my time as a spy?” He poured the tea and levied Hermione’s customary honey into her cup. He handed it to her, continuing, “I haven’t performed the deeds you claim will come to pass. I haven’t killed my mentor, or become headmaster and kept the school under control for a year. I have, however, spent a number of years as a double agent, which you are only too aware of. The answer, Granger, is patience. It’s a learned virtue, and one that I am all too familiar with.” He took a moment to sip his tea. “I am not a patient man, as you may realize.”

Hermione had to keep herself from snorting. No one would ever accuse Snape of being patient. “The simple answer is that we do these things because we must. That is the truest answer I can give you, although I know it’s not what you wish to hear.” She nodded her agreement. “You are in a unique situation, for I don’t know if anyone has gone through the trials of maintaining a year’s worth of activities despite having the foresight to know them.

“I do not know how to help you, Granger.” He finished. “I can, however, offer advice, and an escape from the dunderheads.” He paused, sipping his tea and looking pained. Hermione wondered if he instantly regretted the invitation he just gave her. “So long as you stay quiet and do not return to your know-it-all ways.”

Hermione gave him a smile. He seemed to look less harsh, in return, but she knew better than to expect a smile from him. “Thanks, Snape.”

Snape nodded in return. “Have you considered returning to your experiments? You told me of your age-altering potion. It seems like a very interesting concoction.” Hermione smiled even broader. No one asked her about her potions. Period. The most they’d say was, ‘You’re positive this works?’

She took the advantage like a dog to a bone, and sipped her tea, discussing the difference between aconite picked during the full moon or the new moon, and the use of different barks and their effects on taste. It was quite nice to have someone to talk about potions with. She had always been able to discuss Transfiguration theory with Minerva in the future, or Arithmancy with Septima. But Potions were a sore subject for most, even after Snape was granted clemency on Harry’s word. The subject left a sour taste in everyone’s mouth.

The three remaining days before the first task, Hermione kept herself busy, sometimes reading obscure books on charms theory, sometimes tinkering on a potion in her classroom. She still helped Harry with his spells, but she kept herself from worrying too too much about the outcome of the event. Harry had been fine the last time around, after all.


	30. Chapter 29 - The First Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The First Task begins.

The day of the tournament was bright and clear, perfect weather for spectator sports. Hermione was very antsy, and puttered around Harry, making sure he ate breakfast and had his Firebolt ready on the grounds. She hoped he would be able to avoid being scorched by the dragon flame. Ron was looking at her like a particularly violate potion, or like his mum when she was on a rampage.

Hermione forced herself to sit still when she realized she probably did resemble Molly in her mothering habits. By the time they walked down to the task, though, she was just as wired as ever. It didn’t matter that she’d already seen him win once before. Things could _still_ go wrong. They could still end up with an injured Harry, or him be so demoralized that he didn’t want to continue training.

She could imagine it now – Harry, returning after a spectacular failure at the first task. If he did that badly, he might just stop trying altogether. What was the point, if he didn’t have a chance at winning?

She didn’t want to invade the champion’s tent again (Skeeter’s article was unfriendly enough the first time), but she did want to be close enough that she could intervene if necessary. She waved Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville forward, saying she’d meet up with them later, and to save her a seat.

Standing between two of the gigantic stands and looking at the dragons in front of her, Hermione almost didn’t feel a presence behind her. She turned around and saw – to her surprise – Draco Malfoy. “Malfoy!” She yelled, whipping her wand out in front of her. He was unarmed, and held his hands in front of him in a sign of surrender.

“What do you want?” She said sharply. She had no interest in communicating with this much younger, much less friendly version of him.

“I just want to talk.” He said, slowly lowering his arms to his sides. “I know what you’re doing, Hermione.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, body still wired like a panther ready to pounce. He called her _Hermione._ What kind of trickery was this? “Talk. You have thirty seconds.”

“You’ll want me to stay for more than that. I know your secret.” He said, his pointed face twisting into a ghost of a sneer. “I know about the Veil, and I know you’re behind all the little differences that have started cropping up this year.”

Hermione’s eyes widened incrementally, and she let herself hope, just for a moment, that it was _him_. It was unlikely, however much she wanted it to be true. It was honestly more likely for Snape to have ratted her out. “Explain.” She bit out.

“I’ve gotten some… interesting dreams. Ever since I started at Hogwarts, I’ve been getting visions of the future. I decided I must have been some sort of seer, gifted with the knowledge of events that wouldn’t happen for _years_. Dreams about the Chamber of Secrets, before it opened. Dreams about the Werewolf before Snape told me about him.”

He paused, and Hermione realized her jaw had dropped some time ago. She shut it with a toothy _snap_. What did this mean?

“I had other dreams, too. Dreams about the Quidditch World Cup. Someone cast a Dark Mark, you know. That confused me, for my dreams had never failed me before. It made me doubt my skills, whether I was learning different possible futures or if something in the world had changed. But you know all about that, don’t you? Of course you know. You’re the one who made the changes. I had a dream a few weeks ago about Hermione Granger at nineteen, creating an alter-ego she could use in Diagon Ally. Evangeline, you called her, yes?

“Evangeline, or as the world knows her now, the _Heroine._ I realized the different future had to do something with you once I dreamt that. Lots of little changes have happened, from what I’ve seen. A smoother ride for the Boy Hero, lots more support for him than there was last time around.” He paused, tilting his head in a silent question.

“If that was true, why would I admit it?” Hermione said calmly. “It sounds like you’re just going insane, a seer who’s gone off his rocker. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Internally, Hermione’s mind was moving a mile a minute. What had happened? Had part of Draco’s consciousness come through after all? Her repeated nightmare, the image of Draco’s body lain across the Veil, rose once more in her mind. He said he was seeing the future. But _how?_ Did he come back? Was he the same Draco she knew, or something entirely different?

“I saw no reason to alter the previous timeline,” Draco mused. “I only ever saw three or four years ahead of time, and the bits and pieces I saw were pretty good for me. But then I saw what happened during out eighth year. The Massacre at the Ministry. And I saw us becoming friends – real shocker, that one. Me, befriending the know-it-all? But I’ve been watching you for months now, and you’re not the girl you were in fourth year. You’re _her,_ aren’t you?”

Wordlessly, Hermione cast a _legilimens_ on him. Draco’s mental shields, while strong for a fourth year, were no match for her, and she was reading his thoughts within moments.

_Waking up in a cold sweat, wide-eyed and astonished by Voldemort’s third coming._

_Sneaking into the Slug Club party, pained by the stresses of killing Dumbledore._

_Anger filling his vision with red as he saw Voldemort killing his parents, their lifeless bodies bloodied – tortured. Despair when he realized the murder was meant for him._

_Dreaming of shaking Hermione’s hand, deciding to work together for the betterment of the Wizarding World._

_Seeing the paper with Evangeline, Hermione’s alter ego, in his mind. Realizing that Hermione wasn’t what she seemed._

_The pain of losing Astoria, his fiancé, just days after he proposed. The confusion he felt when he woke up, crying, only to see her at breakfast._

Hermione snapped herself out of his mind. He was looking at her fearfully, clearly doubting his decision to confront her. She realized that he had taken the opportunity to bypass her shields, and had probably seen some memories that confirmed his suspicions. She was from the future, all right.

Hermione wanted to hug him tightly, confide in him, talk like they once did – but something stopped her. This wasn’t really _her_ Draco. He had her Draco’s memories, but he was still a meager fourteen years old. He was a child, almost ten years younger than her mentally. Was he really equipped to aide her?

Would he be able to make the right choices?

She twisted her hands nervously, and a loud _boom!_ shook through the clearing, announcing the beginning of the task. Draco looked around, realizing they both needed to head back to their seats before they were missed. “Meet me in the Room of Requirement, tonight. Eight O’Clock.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, but she nodded a jerky agreement before running back to her section of the stands.

Well, she definitely had something else to focus on than Harry’s performance on the task, now.

Hermione’s friends smiled at her when she sat back down, everyone excited for the spectacle. “Oh my, can you believe they brought _dragons?”_ Said Neville, who seemed quite shaken by the idea. “I don’t envy Harry at all.”

“Nor do I,” said Ginny. “But I bet my broomstick my brother’s down there- Charlie, you know,” she said to Hermione. “He works with dragons.”

Ron looked paler, throwing his freckles into high relief. “Those things are nutters. I mean, I knew it’d be bad, but look at the breeds! Chinese Short-Snout, Norwegian Ridgeback? They’re some of the roughest dragons around!”

They were cut off by Bagman announcing that Cedric Diggory was entering the stadium. Hogwarts seemed to cheer louder than the hundred-thousand wizards at the Quidditch World Cup, a unified, deafening roar that made it difficult even to hear Bagman under a _sonorous._ Hermione looked on grimly as Cedric transformed a rock into a dog and sprinted for the egg.

“Oh, I can’t look!” she said, burying her face into Neville’s shoulder (he was closest). It was even more painful to see Cedric get scorched when she knew what had happened to him mere months later.

“S’alright, Hermione,” said Neville awkwardly, patting her on the shoulder. “He’s got it!”

And he did, for the stands erupted around them in glee. Hermione clapped along with the rest of them, but it felt hollow in her mind. The reality of Draco’s memories was sinking in, and she had absolutely no idea how to handle them. Perhaps another visit to Snape’s office would help.

Soon enough, Fleur and Krum were in and out of the stadium, both successfully grabbing their eggs like she knew they would.

And to another deafening roar from Hogwarts, Harry exited the champions tent.

Hermione chewed her nails into nubs as he summoned his Firebolt and lifted off. He flew brilliantly, dodging the Horntail with a skill she knew Krum would be proud of, swerving to lead the beast away from the nest – a curse that Hermione knew was _conjunctivitis_ left Harry’s wand, and the dragon blundered forward blindly.

Quick as a snitch, Harry swooped in, located the golden egg, and soared into the sky without a single scratch. Hermione, who realized she had made semi-circle marks in her palms from how tightly she clutched her hands, relaxed finally. He had done it, he had really done it!

The crowd was raving as Harry got his scores from the judges, cheering louder than ever, standing up to see better, and closing in so close to one another Hermione thought some of them would fuse together. A six, two eights, a nine, and one ten – that was better than Krum! He hadn’t just finished the task, he had _won!_

Over the roar of the crowd, Ron suggested they go find him, and they slowly worked their way through the stands and down the stairs. On her way, Hermione briefly caught Draco’s eye. He held her gaze steadily, and mouthed the word ‘eight’ at her. She would go down to Harry, now, but her stomach churned with nervousness for eight pm.


	31. Chapter 30 -  The Old and the Young

Hermione barely had time to herself in the next few hours. Wherever she went, she was surrounded by ecstatic Gryffindors trying to claw their way to Harry, who’s fame seemed to quadruple in the span of a few hours. She tried to break away from him, but every time he would give her puppy eyes so pitiful that she couldn’t leave him.

Hermione simultaneously wanted to roll her eyes and ward people away from him out of sheer pity. He looked like he was getting sensory overload from all the people who wanted his attention, and only Fred and George asking him to open the golden egg gave the room any semblance of silence. It gave an almighty  _ SCREEEECH _ , in what Hermione knew was Mermish above water.

“Blimey, that’s worse than Percy singing in the shower!” yelled Fred, hands over his ears.

George, who had done the same, agreed. “Or like Snape’d be, confronted with shampoo!”

And just like that, the magical silence was broken, chaos resuming as everyone roared with laughter at the twins. She sat back in a comfortable leather chair and surveyed tbe chaos. At eleven, the Gryffindors were finally winding down from their party, and Hermione had been curled up, reading, for the last three hours. Harry collapsed next to her, smiling wearily.

“Did you have fun?” She said blandly.

Harry snorted. “Mione, I think dealing with the dragon was easier. At least I knew someone could contain it after I finished the task.”

Hermione stifled a giggle. “Oh come on, they weren’t that bad.”

“Not that bad- Hermione, you saw them! I like a party as much as the next bloke, but not when they keep cheering and toasting me. I’m not even a real champion! That win was a  _ fluke _ .” He looked so earnest, sitting forward in his seat emphatically. She looked at him with sympathy; honestly, she would have enjoyed the whole thing a lot less, and probably refused to put up with it. Harry seemed to manage the crowd a lot better than this time around, but this Harry hadn’t met their disbelief and scorn just hours before the first task.

All in all, Hermione considered the whole ordeal a job well done. If only everything were as simple as helping Harry in the tournament.

She fiddled with the golden chain of the time turner around her neck (it never left her sight, and she only took it off to shower). She knew she’d have to turn back time to talk to Draco, but she was  _ tired. _ She went upstairs and fell headfirst into a much-deserved rest.

* * *

She woke with a start, a feeling of dread snapping her out of the arms of Morpheus and into the cold tower. Hermione had fallen asleep in her robes, and felt quite mucky as she was. It was morning, just before 7, and everyone was asleep.

Hermione grabbed a quick shower and tidied herself up: if she knew anything about Draco Malfoy, it was that he’d take any physical untidiness as a weakness. Until the end, he tried his damndest to look stunning. She cast her typical hair neatening and defrizzing charms, and donned her nicest robes – to anyone else, she may appear to be dressing to impress. Draco, though, he would see it as what it truly was: battle armor. She had no idea how Draco would approach this situation, what the visions of their future had done to him. She didn’t even know if she was meeting an enemy or a friend. Mission accomplished (she looked as stunning and dangerous as her sixteen-year-old self could,) she marched out of the common room and down the stairs.

In the safety of her abandoned classroom, Hermione turned back time twelve hours.

It was now 7:31, just thirty minutes after her doppelganger joined all the Gryffindors in celebration upstairs. She sat down at her desk, the ancient teacher’s desk that she’d taken from another abandoned classroom in September, and spread out her parchment.

It was time for some Arithmancy.

Hermione wrote out some equations. Her experience plus Draco’s knowledge of the future, against her survival rate, was a very comforting 99.9%. The same situation, her experience plus Draco’s knowledge, against her survival rate in provoking him, was still a very comfortable 99.8%. So she wasn’t going into certain death. Hermione had concluded a long time ago that the 0.1% of the time was about as likely as she was to slip on a trip stair and fall to the first floor, or perhaps that Dobby left a banana peel on the floor of Shell Cottage and slipped, cracking his head open as he went.

Hermione had to assume that this Draco was as knowledgeable as his future self, but had watched it as if it were a movie. He hadn’t really gone through all the same struggles as  _ her _ Draco had. He had clearly decided to let sleeping dragons lie and continue to act out the situations he’d seen in his dreams.

She would survive this meeting, that was as certain as she could be. Without really understanding him as he was right now, in this timeline, she had no way of knowing if the knowledge had affected him, if he changed at  _ all _ after he started getting dreams in first year.

But then, there  _ was _ someone who knew if he had changed! Dobby had still been the Malfoy’s slave at that point. Hermione’s lip curled in distaste as she remembered the abhorrent way they had treated him. She already felt bad enough for the elf for having gone through that. There was no point in drudging it up again, especially since she already had him working hard enough.

Hermione waved her hand lazily in the air to cast a  _ tempus _ , and saw that it was 7:53. She sighed, set her desk to rights, and smoothed her hair back (it always got bushier when she did Arithmancy, for some reason).

The halls were surprisingly quiet, considering the event that had just finished. Everyone must either be in their common rooms, or perhaps had stayed outside to celebrate – or to commiserate, as the case may be. She didn’t mind the quiet walk to the old portrait of Barnibus the Barmy and his trolls, but it gave her too much time to think.

Would Draco be happy to see her? Why had he waited so long?

There was an old oak door on the patch of wall down the seventh floor. The worn wood and cast-iron fit right in with Hogwarts décor, but Hermione was left gaping.

This was the exact door at the entrance of their hideout. The last safe-haven for muggleborns and blood traitors, the headquarters of the Resistance, and where Hermione and Draco had lived for three long years.

She knocked, using the code they taught all their agents. If the knock was even one beat off, you’d be denied entry, and the alarm would blare. That way, even if someone caught on to the number of knocks, they would still set the alarm (one of the Resistance’s better ideas, she thought. Although it backfired on Lavender, who had absolutely no sense of rhythm.)

The door opened, and she was greeted by a sneering Draco Malfoy.

“So,  _ Hermione Granger. _ You decided to show up.” He stood squarely in front of the door, and Hermione was surprised by just how very small he was.

She strode into the room, knocking shoulders with him when he didn’t move out of her way.  _ Not a friendly visit, then.  _ She thought to herself.  _ What a shame.  _ She had to keep herself from giggling at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

“So, Draco Malfoy. You decided to show yourself.” She quipped back. “What do you want, Draco?”

Draco’s face twisted in distaste. “Don’t call me that, Granger,” he spat. “We’re the only ones with this curse, as far as I can tell, and now I learn  _ you’ve  _ been mucking it up!”

“What do you mean, I’ve been mucking it up? What curse?”

“You… you’re disrupting the timeline. Salazar’s snake, Granger, I thought you were intelligent.” She frowned. Disrupting the timeline? She was  _ saving _ the timeline.

“I assure you,  _ Malfoy _ , my intelligence far exceeds yours. What the bloody hell are you on about?” She turned away from him angrily, pacing across the lush study the Room of Requirement had created for them.

Draco followed her, and grabbed her arm angrily. “You’ve got the same dreams I have, I saw them! And you’re just destroying their usefulness!” She snatched her arm out of his grip, her two years of training making her much stronger than him. From the corner of her eye, she saw Draco’s hand drifting to his hip, where she knew he kept his wand. Faster than a bolt of lightening, Hermione leveled her wand between his eyes.

“Don’t. Even. Try.” She said dangerously. “I don’t know what you think you know, but you’re clearly missing something, whether that’s between the ears or part of the story, I’m not sure. Unless you tell me exactly what’s going on in that bigoted head of yours, you can get ready to kiss all those memories goodbye.”

Something in her eyes must have convinced Draco she meant business, for he put his hands out. “Listen, Granger, we wouldn’t be having this conversation if you hadn’t started ripping apart my most valuable source of information. I  _ told you _ I had visions of the future. When you performed Legilimency on me, I learned that you have visions of the future, too. I saw them in your mind. But all my memories of this year have changed in one way – just one way – and that’s you.”

Hermione processed this quickly. So Draco thought she was just like him, only with vague visions of the future instead of having lived through it? She didn’t know whether she could trust this Draco yet, however, so she wasn’t about to correct him. Instead, she asked, “can you blame me? If you’ve truly seen the same future I have, wouldn’t you want to change it too?”

“I have changed it. Just by acting today, I changed it. And in other ways too, but none so utterly public and stupid as you’ve done.” He flopped into a black armchair by the fire, a picture of aloofness that was belayed by his words.

Hermione reeled back in shock. Who was he to call her stupid? This fourteen-year-old Draco, barely past puberty, with none of the battle experience that she had and none of the sacrifices haunting him. She calculated all of her decisions, sometimes  _ literally _ with Arithmancy.

“Then you’re a fool,” she said, anger tightening in her gut. “If you think you can sit back and relax, and keep the future from repeating itself. You don’t get it, do you? The chance to save the world just fell in your lap, and you’re just going to sit back and let it happen?”

“Like you’re doing any better! Prancing around in a costume, protecting bloody Saint Potter from anything bad that could ever happen to him – don’t you know what you’re changing? I don’t see the future anymore, not with certainty. Since you’ve started changing things, some remains the same and some changes. If you do enough, I can’t do anything to get it back on course. We’ll just get dreams of a future that won’t happen.”

Hermione growled. “I’m saving our world, Draco. I, for one, don’t want that  _ monster _ to keep returning time and time again. I’ve gathered half of the horcruxes already, and I’m going to end him.”

Draco’s face flashed with concern, confusion, and something else she couldn’t identify. “H-horcruxes?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, Draco. Horcruxes. Y’know, the thing that made Voldemort so powerful the third time around?”

“You’re lying.” He looked ashy; shell-shocked, even.

“Why would I lie? What could  _ possibly  _ motivate me to joke about this?”

“I never dreamt of that, Granger. Either you’ve got a sick sense of humor, or we’ve got different futures.”

Hermione froze. Different futures… if she had come back, was it possible that this wasn’t a trickle of her Draco through the veil, but a different Draco Malfoy altogether? From a different timeline?

From the timeline she was creating now?

She shook the thought from her head. That wasn’t possible. The memories she saw were too similar, the touches he did to the door and the code too specific- wasn’t it?

She needed to know. Her arm, still limply holding her wand, snapped up again. She looked into Draco’s icy gray eyes, and for a moment saw a fear that she’d seen far too many times before. “ _ Legilimens!”  _ she cast coldly.

Instead of simply listening for Draco’s surface thoughts, Hermione dug into his mind. The mindscape of a fourteen-year-old was chaotic, under-developed. No matter how much Snape had trained him in the mental arts, he was simply too young to have a full mind palace. So instead of searching through a system, like her public library mindscape, she was sifting through fuzzy rooms and hallways, half-developed buildings, and walking on a path with less definition than a cloud at sunset.

It was jarring, turning to see that the wall behind her wasn’t truly a wall, more of a red blob in her mental vision, but she moved past it.

She dug. Deeper, deeper into Draco’s mind. Past the sensory experiences, past the many whirring thought processes, deeper still until she found what she was looking for.

The subconscious mind. It was a dangerous place to invade for even the most masterful legilimens, because any misstep could lead to extreme memory issues in either the invader or the invaded. The subconscious mind wasn’t a very understood concept by any means (although they knew a fair bit better than Sigmund Freud, the muggle psychologist).

So it was with great gentleness that she ghosted over the content of his subconscious mind, careful not to tamper with anything. She wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for, but she knew she would know it when she found it.

Finally, she saw what she was looking for – a messy corpse of something… something  _ different.  _ It looked nothing like the murky, underdeveloped world of Draco’s mind. It was sharper, more defined. Doing what any diligent researcher and careful Legilimens would do, she poked it.

The entire mindscape rippled, like water disturbed on a still lake. Hermione screwed her eyes shut, waiting for the dizzying spectacle to end. When she had opened her eyes again, however, she saw that it had only gotten worse. She backed out, as quickly as she was able, and went back to Draco’s conscious mind.

What the bloody hell was that?

She looked around the mindscape, sure she would have been panting from the effort of running to his conscious mind if it had been reality. Around her, the whole world seemed to be crumbling; the building in which she had found his subconscious bubbled up like molten lava. The fuzzy path she stood on soon followed, and a dark tower was erected where the old building stood.

_ Fuck. Bloody, buggering fuck _ , Hermione screamed mentally, unable to form words in this mindscape. The rest of the world started bubbling too, rippling in and out of stable form. She turned around, and the other building she had seen – what she assumed was his sensory experiences – was nothing but clear grass and a bubbling brook. But as she watched, brick by brick a cottage appeared, the stones laying themselves down out of nowhere. Vines appeared over the newly laid stones, and grew over the cottage before her eyes.

She was out of here. Whatever was happening, it was affecting his entire mind, and Hermione shook with the effort of breaking herself free from the mindscape.

She took a shuddering breath, and blinked furiously. Suddenly, she was back on her feet, in the deafening silence of the Room of Requirement. Draco sat still in front of her, in a pose that might even look serene if it weren’t for his guileless open eyes.

What had she done?

 


	32. Chapter 31 - The Dragon's Slumber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco awakes after the altercation.

Draco’s eyes snapped open, fixing on Hermione with an intensity she had never seen.

“Hermione.” He whispered softly.

She leaned forward. Was this just another trick?

“Draco?” She said tentatively. He looked sickly, like he had taken a nosebleed nugeot without the good end, or like he’d entered the realm of the spirits as a ghost. She hovered over him, unwilling to get too close in case he would double-cross her. “Draco, are you alright?”

He groaned, his pale hands moving to cover his paler face. For a minute, neither of them said anything, as Hermione watched from afar and Draco seemed to finally regain his focus. “Mione, when are we?”

She gasped.  _ When  _ are we, he had asked. Could this be her Draco?

“It’s fourth year, Draco. Right after the first task.”

“ _ Fourth _ year, but how? We were supposed to come back in first year. And my memories are so jumbled.” He squeezed his eyes shut in concentration. He looked in pain, and Hermione wished she could help him.

“Hey, Draco, it’s ok. We’re both here.” She put a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up at her with agony.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. “No, something went wrong. It’s all wrong. What happened?”

Hermione sighed. What had happened? Was this really her Draco, or another ploy? Or, a small part of her mind worried, was this a Draco from a different future altogether?

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Draco sat back in his seat, thinking. “I’m not certain.” Was all he said for a solid minute. Finally, he seemed to process his thoughts, and said, “I remember running with you, to the veil. To come back in time. And I remember… it’s the oddest thing. I remember a river, and a house, but I can’t remember much of anything after that. Bits and pieces of my memories came back to me.

“I remember being a git in first, second, and third year. I remember those bits better than anything, honestly, but only tiny little flashes. The rest… I remembered it vaguely. I feel as if I’ve been in limbo, trapped in my mind. And then I saw you, in my mind. I remembered everything, Hermione, everything we ever said and did, the Horcruxes, the fights, the good times and the bad… but more than anything, I remember  _ pain.  _ I almost died, I should have died, the moment I hit the veil. And that’s been plaguing me ever since.”

Hermione swallowed heavily. She knew what had happened. And it seemed that she might have made a mistake. Just like her, Draco had made it back to his former self. But his subconscious mind seemed to be shielding the hurt from his younger mind, sequestering it away in the shield she had unceremoniously disturbed.

“How do you feel now?” She said softly.

Draco grimaced. “I’ve felt worse.” He gave her a sickening grin, the way he had looked at her when his hand was cut off. It was a grimace of pain, and she knew he must be in agony.

“Barely, it seems.”

“I’m functional. We came back for a purpose, and I’m not about to let a little pain get in the way. Slytherin, remember?”

“And I’m not about to let you suffer more than necessary. Gryffindor, remember?” She returned, grinning. Despite the dire circumstances, she was happy to have her friend back.

Draco groaned and forced himself to sit up in the chair. “So it’s fourth year. What’s the plan? Did you just get here, too? Are you hurt?” He added the last question fearfully, and she was touched by his concern. It struck her just how different her Draco was from his former self, the young Draco she had just replaced with his future self. Her blood ran cold when she thought about the implications of her actions. She was so concerned about her  _ own _ survival, but she hadn’t even thought to run equations for him.  _ Stupid. _

“I’m fine, Draco. But I think there’s a bit more going on than you realize.”

“What, what is it?” The pain hadn’t left his face.

She bit her lip. “I’ve been here since the end of third year. And you, Draco, well, I think you’ve been here for  _ years. _ ”

“I don’t understand.”

She was fighting back tears at this point, her throat tight and words chipped like shards of glass. “I went into your mind, Draco. Legilimency, to the third level.” She saw his face, already furrowed, get darker. “You weren’t your younger self, you know, but you weren’t here either. You were somewhere in-between: you thought you were a seer, or something, Draco, I was the one who put you in this state!”

Tears ran down her cheeks, and she swiped at them angrily.

“Hey, its not your fault. I’m sure you were trying to help.”

She laughed humorlessly. “Help. That’s true, all I’ve tried to do was help. But even your younger self knew I was making mistakes, hell, that’s why he took me to the Room of Requirements in the first place.”

“What exactly have you done?” Said Draco. Hermione’s heart sunk. She knew that voice. That was the voice Draco used when someone came back with news of a raid, or when someone had caused them to lose an advantage and Draco had warned them. She remembered the last time he sounded like this all too well.

_ The study was dimly lit, lamps fluttering weakly in the stiff atmosphere. Poppy was sitting at the desk, head in her hands, a sheaf of parchment laid out in front of her. Her tone lacked her usual brisk efficiency, and instead sounded as weary as Hermione felt. “We are as good as doomed, friends. They have found the other outpost.” _

_ Hermione felt her heart sink. That had been the only safe haven for those who were injured, unable, or unwilling to fight. She looked around the room, and each member of the council looked sick to their stomach. _

_ “Lavender was able to send this missive just before the Death Eater Obliterators came in.” _

_ “Obliterators?” said Draco questioningly. “But that would mean they found it through the ministry materials.” _

_ “That’s correct, Draco. Someone must have used unauthorized transportation, and tripped their wards. We do not know who did this, but we must ensure the security of this final outpost. These are dark times, and whoever is wandering around without taking precautions has endangered the entire Resistance. What if they break into their minds? Some of their occlumency shields are weakened or simply weak. We cannot trust in our own safety, and I can guarantee that all of our friends at the outpost are long dead.” _

_ Hermione furrowed her brow. “But who could have done that? We have so little communication with the outpost as it is, and  _ everyone _ knows the rules against traceable portation. _

_ Draco whirled around, turning to the former Unspeakable, Bartleby. He had never looked or sounded so much like ice, firm in his ways and poised to strike. “There is only one person who could have caused this.” _

_ Bartleby shrunk in his seat, unable to meet Draco’s eyes. _

_ “Bartleby. You underpowered, incompetent shite. What did you do?” He rounded on the man, leaning forward with each word. _

_ The man refused to speak, something he was all too good at. _

_ Poppy’s voice ran out sharply. “Is this true, Bartleby? Did you activate the wards?” _

_ Bartleby mumbled something unintelligible, looking at his shoes. _

_ “Yes Bartleby, what  _ exactly _ have you done?” He rounded on the man with his wand outstretched. “Poppy, I can  _ make _ him talk.” He said with an almost feral grin. _

“Hermione. Talk to me. You need to tell me what happened, because if you’ve fucked something up, I need to know what’s wrong before it’s too late.” The words were harsh, but Hermione was more than used to it.

Hermione took a breath and opened her mouth to speak. Almost immediately, she stopped, grimacing, shame pooling in her gut like a physical thing. “Let me start out by saying I didn’t know the whole situation. It doesn’t excuse my actions, but it does explain them. I awoke in the hospital wing, almost a year ago for me.

“I was so alone, Draco. I realized that something had gone wrong, and I was alone and upset. And I probably made a few decisions that I shouldn’t have.”

He stared her down hard. “Who did you tell?”

She sighed. “Just Snape. And honestly, he’s been pretty helpful. He’s been able to keep me sane, really, cause I really had no one-“

“Hermione,” he said calmly, “I hope you realize that Severus is a self-serving git. If he helped you, it was so you could help him later. And I say that as lovingly as a godson can. So what the bloody buggering fuck possessed you to share our secret with him?” He said each word very evenly, but she could detect the pain in his voice.

“I didn’t exactly have a choice, you know. He cornered me in my classroom – which should have been warded to hell and back, I have no idea how he got to it, honestly– and my options were to tell him or to try and obliviate the best Legilimens in Britain.”

Draco rubbed his face with a hand. “I don’t know if you realize how dangerous Severus is. Even after Potter made all the world believe he was on the right side, I don’t even know for sure. And I  _ lived _ with him during that time, as you well know. But if that’s the only thing that’s happened, I suppose it could be worse.”

Hermione made a small humming sound, something halfway between a whimper and a laugh. “I wish it was all. I’ve been able to find and destroy two horcruxes, and I have a pretty good plan on the last two. So in terms of the horcruxes, we’re doing just fine. But your younger self… Oh Draco, I think I may have caused you to be in so much pain.” Draco flinched at that, and Hermione continued quickly. “The thing is, your younger self was having, erm, visions, or something, but they weren’t the whole story really-”

“You told me. What happened, Hermione?”

“- Well, he told me he was making changes with what he saw, and I sorta invadedyourmindanderasedhismemories.”

“Come again?”

“Erm, I invaded your mind, which is why you’re here right now instead of him, and I think I may have erased his memories of the last two years.”

“You mean the last two years, Draco Malfoy has been running around wild? His head filled with notions of blood purity and his dreams full of the  _ future _ ? And you did something ridiculously obvious that tipped him off, so he was willing to get between you and your plans to manipulate the future to his advantage?”

Hermione gulped. “How far do you think he’d have gone to change things?”

“If it were me – and it was – as far as possible. Further, if he could get away with it. Changing little things here and there so long as they wouldn’t change the big picture; like we planned to do, but instead of planning to defeat Voldemort, he was trying to  _ save him! _ Bloody hell, Hermione, I don’t want to blame you for his actions, but this is bad. This is really bad. I have no clue what I’ve done, especially if he didn’t have all the details from the future. We have to figure out what he’s done. Has he been acting any different?”

“Actually, he has been!” Hermione said, her mind flooding with memories. “He’s acted quite strange honestly, ever since I came back. He was treating me nicely in comparison to how you used to treat me; no hard feelings, of course, we’re fine now, and he hadn’t provoked Harry nearly as much as before. Honestly, he may even have kept Harry from hating him – you – so very much, which I suppose is a plus.”

“Hardly,” said Draco. “I would be nice to Potter so I could double-cross him, or stay under his radar and strike where he least expects it. I have to assume he’s played many of these sorts of games, and if all goes well, I’ll be able to play the part convincingly.”

Hermione frowned. She hated that he was pushed into this situation immediately after returning from the future. In his perspective, he had only been back for a few hours. She remembered how disheartened she had been after coming back to the wrong time, and that was without Draco’s constant pain. “I’m sorry, Draco. I wish you didn’t have to play these games anymore.”

“I’ve been in the game all my life, Hermione. It’s hardly a new challenge.” He leaned back in the chair once more, looking quite tired. “Except this time I don’t have all the cards. Hopefully I don’t lose the game, because it might very well mean death.”

 


	33. Chapter 32 - Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione talks to a great many people.

Previously: Hermione frowned. She hated that he was pushed into this situation immediately after returning from the future. In his perspective, he had only been back for a few hours. She remembered how disheartened she had been after coming back to the wrong time, and that was without Draco's constant pain. "I'm sorry, Draco. I wish you didn't have to play these games anymore."

"I've been in the game all my life, Hermione. It's hardly a new challenge." He leaned back in the chair once more, looking quite tired. "Except this time I don't have all the cards. Hopefully I don't lose the game, because it might very well mean death."

* * *

It was hard for Hermione to realize that all of the recent events happened within one day. Harry won the first task, Draco revealed that he had visions of the future, and suddenly, Draco was back to him.

She and Draco had talked far too long into the night, and she had decided to catch a few more hours of sleep in her classroom. The Time Turner was really quite a useful invention, Hermione decided, as she could get a full night's sleep despite the crazy partying of the Gryffindors and her liaison with Draco.

Finally ready for the day, she moved across the room to replace her former self (who was behind the screen, currently turning back to 7:30 of the night before). It was extremely quiet in the halls, as it was Sunday morning. Hermione wandered aimlessly, restlessly. Eventually, she found herself out on the grounds, sitting under a tree. It was starting to get colder, the leaves turning dusty browns and reds, and the wind blew harshly through her summer robes.

She and Draco had made a new plan for the remainder of the year, once he had searched her memories for any interactions between younger Draco and herself. Despite the direness of the situation, it felt good to have him back with her. Snape was a good supporter (and wasn't that odd to think about), but he hadn't gone through the same things they had. Who besides Draco would be able to match her planning step for step, run through the equations with almost as much efficiency as she, and have all the information and perspective that he did?

He had thought she was stupid to go after Rita. "You remember that she revealed herself to me, right? Last time around, I fed her information and got her in places. That woman is vicious. She would write anything about anyone- what's more, you must let her write about Hermione, or she'll figure out there's a connection between you and the Heroine. And believe me, you do not want her finding out."

Hermione agreed, of course, but she didn't regret what she did. The results from the first task were a promise of success – if Harry wasn't thinking about how much the school hated him, or how much the Wizarding world admired him, he could learn much more effectively. He had even learned Accio without any help from her.

The only other thing Hermione had changed. Something she hadn't even remembered until Draco brought it up, was S.P.E.W. Her campaign for the Protection of Elvish Welfare really hadn't been as relevant as it was the first time, for this timeline spared Hermione from seeing Winky receive clothing. Privately, she still held house elves in high regard, and felt for their plight. But another part of her understood the world a bit better now, and understood how house elves fit into that.

Not to mention, she had a few more things to worry about. But it hadn't stopped her from asking Dobby to help Winky out, if she ended up getting fired again (Hermione expected she had, for despite the lack of a spectacle where Winky was found with a wand, she still let Barty Crouch Jr. loose). Thinking she had better see how Dobby was doing, and if he had found Winky, she called for him.

"Dobby!" It had been far too long since she'd talked to the elf, and she needed some sense of normalcy.

"Good morning, Miss Hermione! It is good to be seeing you!"

Hermione smiled. "Good morning to you too, Dobby. How goes things?"

Dobby was almost bouncing with excitement. "Things is going well, Miss Hermione! Things is working wonderfully, I has made thousands of clothsies and I has kept track of Winky like you is asking."

"Oh wonderful, Dobby," Hermione said, absently handing over his six-sickle wages for the month. "How is Winky doing?"

Dobby's ears drooped considerably. "I is afraid that Winky isn't doing very well at all, Miss Hermione. She has taken to drinking, oh yes, and stays for days at a time in my room's closet."

"Oh no, but that's awful!" Said Hermione, "So Crouch really freed her?"

Dobby nodded, his huge eyes wraught with sadness. "I is trying to tell Winky to get wages, and that she is being able to find a home like I is. But she has taken to the Butterbeers and refuses to give up on her Bartsies."

Hermione frowned. "What do you think would help her, Dobby?"

Dobby tilted his head in consideration. "I is thinking that Winky needs a master, Miss Hermione. I finds her very nice, but she is not a strong elf. She is only wanting to do what she has done before, and even when I tell her that you is giving me wages, she still does not listen. I thinks that she needs a new family."

Hermione had a moment of pride as she realized Dobby had become so much more confident in himself. She could see it in the elf's stance, he believed what he was saying and he was trying to help her. Hermione had asked Dobby to help Winky a while ago, but she had also told him to dig into her library to learn more about the world. Dobby was quite intelligent, after all.

Winky wasn't quite fit for work right now – which is why she had been placed at Hogwarts by the House Elf Relocation Committee in the original timeline – but she didn't deserve to just be left to wallow like she had. She needed someone to care for her, help her get back on her feet, and find something she loved.

"Dobby, I give you full authorization to help Winky in whatever way you think best. As my employee, you'll be representing me, and people will probably start asking who's elf is traipsing around." She paused, letting that sink in.

"What is you meaning, Miss Hermione? Is you not wanting me to say that I is working for you?"

Hermione grinned. "Well, I don't want people to know it's me exactly. That's why I want to tell you a secret: I'm the Heroine of Sussex."

Dobby's eyes widened in shock. "Miss Hermione is surely an amazing witch! The Heroine is very brave and heroic!"

"Thank you, Dobby. That's very kind." She smiled at him. It was nice to see that someone still appreciated her. "I want you to do whatever you need to do to help Winky. And I'd like you to help me keep the bad wizards at bay, but just the little things. Don't go tackling something big without backup. Do you think you can do that?"

"Oh yes, Dobby is wanting that very much."

"That's wonderful. You know, being the personal assistant of the Heroine of Sussex is a big role. I think you deserve a raise." Solemnly, she took two more sickles out and handed them to him. It was an expense that might cut into her funds, but it was definitely worth it. Especially when she saw the glee on Dobby's face.

"I is able to buy so many yarns with this!" He squealed, voice raising into a seriously high pitch.

She giggled at the elf. "Let me know if you need anything, Dobby. Especially if you start to find some bad bad wizards around, or if anyone is giving you trouble. You're a really good friend to me, and I don't want anyone mistreating you."

Dobby's eyes welled up with tears, and he ran up to her, sickles tucked safely in his green breast pocket. "Thank you, Miss Hermione. You is being a great friend to me too."

He quickly popped away, and Hermione smiled fondly at the small elf. Hopefully he could do some good in a world that kept getting darker.

She sat at the lake for a while longer, legs pulled up under her chin for warmth.

A few splashes disrupted the water near her. Thinking it was just the squid, she ignored it.

A giant splash came again, louder this time. She looked over, and saw what looked like a man with two dorsal fins. He kept trying to stand up, but was flopping back in the water every time he stood up.

Hermione rushed to her feet, trying to see what she could do to help. "Are you alright?" She yelled out, and the figure turned halfway toward her before falling once again, splashing her with icy cold water. She ignored it, looking down at the awkward figure. "Oh, are you stuck?  _Finite incantatum!"_

She watched as the figure transformed from a floppy human-dolphin hybrid into a normal, familiar face.

Victor Krum stood up clumsily from the shores of the lake, awkwardly using his wand to dry his clothing. She realized with astonishment that he had used self-transfiguration on himself and must have accidentally transfigured his wand along with it. She wondered briefly if this had happened last time around, and who had come to his rescue before.

"Thenk you, madame," he said stiffly. "I am in your debt." His mouth formed the words in his strange accented way, and she smiled. Victor had always been a gentleman, and she had greatly enjoyed their friendship the last time around.

"Think nothing of it. We're students, right? Still learning." She smiled warmly. "Although I must ask why you decided to transform yourself into a dolphin in November. And alone, for that matter."

He shuffled awkwardly. "I vas studying. Practice for class."

"Of course." She said, trying to contain her humor. She hadn't forgotten Victor pulling her out of the water, still half-shark. "I'm Hermione, by the way." She held out a hand to shake.

"It is lovely to meet you, Hermyoninny," Victor said, clasping her hand strongly. "Thenk you once again."

She nodded graciously, accepting the thanks. "Perhaps we'll see each other soon," she said with a grin. If anything had happened like the last time, they would be seeing one another not three weeks from now, when Victor approached her in the library and asked her to the ball.

"I am hoping we do," he said, and squelched back to the Durmstrang ship. She looked after him fondly. He was one of the only people who had escaped the craziness of the wars – although she had a feeling Voldemort would have moved to the mainland if they hadn't come back to change time.

She ambled back to the castle, feeling much better than she had when she left. Unfortunately, the more pleasant conversations couldn't last. She needed to talk to Snape.

Descending into the dungeons, Hermione once again regretted her decision to wear summer robes. The halls were  _freezing_. She cast a few warming charms, and was even tempted to cast one of her signature bluebell flames to provide a bit more heat, when spotted Snape rounding the corner.

"Ah, Professor Snape!" She said in surprise. "Just the man I was looking for."

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," said Snape icily, now completely visible from around the corner. She tilted her head in confusion, wondering what made him sound so very cold. To Hermione's surprise, Dumbledore appeared as well, deftly avoiding an overexcited suit of armor.

"Miss Granger, a pleasure to see you!" Dumbledore said cheerily.

Hermione's blood ran cold. She had successfully avoided Dumbledore the entire semester thus far, and now, with only one month left to go, she was cornered.

"He-Hello, Professor Dumbledore." She said, stumbling in surprise. "How are you doing, sir?"

"Oh, quite well, quite well. It is lovely weather for a nice cup of Earl Gray, don't you agree?" Dumbledore said idly, stroking his beard and smiling like a doddery old man.

She didn't know exactly what Dumbledore was playing at, but she went along with it. "Quite a good day. It's very chilly."

"Yes, or perhaps a cup of hot cocoa. I do love the stuff. Well, Severus, I see that duty calls. I will catch up with you later."

Snape said his farewells to Dumbledore, but kept his eyes on Hermione, an unreadable expression on his face. "What project are you worried about this time, Miss Granger? I do not have all day, after all."

Hermione looked at him quizzically, and he motioned behind Hermione, where Dumbledore had disappeared. Realization dawned on her, and she adopted the most know-it-all, swottish voice she could. "Well, Professor Snape, I remember the project you gave us about Ashwinder eggs a few weeks ago, and I really thought we should've talked more about the qualities and uses in healing potions…"

She continued at a speed that irritated even her, and by the time Snape had slammed the door to his office, they were both looking grumpy.

"That was foolish, Miss Granger." Said Snape quietly. "What if it had been someone other than Dumbledore? Mad-Eye  _Moody_ , perhaps? Or one of my Slytherins, even."

Hermione brushed it off. "No harm, no foul, Snape. It won't happen again, you just surprised me." She took her customary seat in the black armchair near his desk. It wasn't until Snape had poured their drinks – Earl Gray, as always – that Hermione wondered if it was a coincidence, that Dumbledore named it earlier.

* * *

AN: Thanks for the amazing responses, everyone! I'm sorry to the reviewer who asked for more Harry - he'll come back, I promise!


	34. Chapter 33 - Middle Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione takes action.

“What did you need to talk to me about today, Miss Granger? Do you require more advice on maintaining the timeline?” Snape said somewhat sardonically.

She sat back in her chair, using magic to swirl the honey into her tea. “Not quite, Snape. I’m pleased with how events are transpiring as of now. What I need is your knowledge of the horcrux. Where is it located? How is it protected?”

“Why must you suddenly know this?” Snape said icily, “I have offered my knowledge and my assistance already.”

“My plans are banking on every horcrux being destroyed before Voldemort comes back.” She said the name deliberately, knowing that every death eater – past or present – would flinch. Satisfyingly, he flinched at the name, and she grinned.

What she really needed was proof of Snape’s honesty. Draco had sewed enough doubt in her mind about him, they couldn’t just trust he would give her the details about the cup when the time came. Even if his intentions were to stay on their side, something could happen to him before he could tell her. Shit would really have to hit the fan for that to occur, but she didn’t want to take any chances. “Listen, Snape, I need to know where the cup is. Now that my time won’t be taken up by Hogwarts drama until Christmas, it’s time for me to focus on the important things.”

“But you haven’t reached your majority yet. You can’t hope to capture the cup without using magic, and that will surely get you caught.”

“That’s true. It’s just safer, you know, if we both have an idea of why. What makes you want to conceal it, anyway?”

Snape sighed. “It is… a difficult story to tell.”

“Oh?” Hermione leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Why is that?”

For the first time, Hermione thought she noticed discomfort in Snape. Something about the stiffness of his back, or the way his scowl froze on his face like it had been hit with a permanent sticking charm. “If I tell you this tale, you must also tell me something.”

“What do you mean, Snape? That’s not how this works.”

“I think you’ll find that I have the information you need, which means I have you at a disadvantage. Tell me what happened between you and Draco, and I will be pleased to tell you about the cup.”

Hermione hesitated. She knew Snape took his word very seriously, and she just might find herself losing an ally if she didn’t uphold her part of the deal. But the information was too important to lose, so finally, she sighed and said, “Oh alright, Snape. I’ll tell you, but you’d better tell me first.”

“Severus.” He said all of a sudden.

She blinked owlishly, and he expanded, “Call me Severus. You’re an adult, it’s ridiculous to address me as you have been.”

She was taken aback, but agreed all the same. “Very well, Sn- Severus. Then it’s Hermione.”

“Good.” Snape (she didn’t know if she’d ever think of him as Severus in her mind) gave a weirdly satisfied look, and Hermione once again bemoaned the strangeness of Slytherins. “I am aware that you know of my previous… affiliations with the Dark Lord, and that I reported to him quite loyally before seeing the error of my ways.” Hermione kept herself from snorting, because Snape’s ‘error of his ways’ was realizing that he damned his crush to an  _ avada kedavra. _

“Nevertheless,” Snape continued quickly, perhaps because she wasn’t as good as she thought at keeping the smirk off her face. “I was rewarded with the dubious honor of protecting one of the Dark Lord’s most precious artifacts. From your description, I am assured that this artifact is Hufflepuff’s cup, his fourth horcrux.

“It was a week after I had informed the Dark Lord about the prophecy. I hadn’t even heard from Lily yet, so I was quite pleased when the he informed me he was trusting me with an extremely sensitive assignment. It was the completion of this assignment, combined with reporting the prophecy, that got me into his inner circle of Death Eaters.” Snape paused, and Hermione could tell he was less than comfortable speaking about this. She would bet that she was the only person he’d told outside of Dumbledore.

For the first time, Hermione felt a pang of sympathy for Snape. What a lonely life he led, with no one to confide in besides a somewhat doddery, sometimes manipulative headmaster from the last century. She decided she’d give him a Christmas present, for she was certain he didn’t get many.

“The assignment was simple and challenging all at the same time. I was to transfer the cup from it’s original hiding place – the orphanage he grew up in, I believe – and move it to a more… suitable position. Namely, the gravestone of his former boss, Mr. Caractcus Burke of Borgin and Burkes. It is in the London cemetery where the cup now lays, unless the Dark Lord removed it since.”

“How did you protect it?” Hermione said after a moment.

Snape scowled. “I used quite a clever number of wards, all dark and quite suitable to the Dark Lord’s taste. But you won’t find any of them there.” He set his tea down with far too much force.

“Why ever not?”

“Because the Dark Lord found them inadequate to his uses. I believe he returned to the graveyard and put his own protections on the stone.” Throughout the tale, he had been buzzing with a sort of anxious energy, clearly uncomfortable by the conversation. But now, he relaxed, returning to his normal dour self. “As we agreed, I will take you to the Hexayard Cemetary during yule – although I will be busy  _ chaperoning _ during the night of Christmas.”

“Oh yes, I will be busy during the yule ball as well.” Hermione said idly. Snape gave her a piercing look, and then seemed to settle back down.

“Ah, so you’ve already experienced this travesty once before. Is it as gaudy as I fear?”

Hermione chuckled. “The Yule Ball? Probably worse. We really pulled out all the stops, even a few of the Beauxbatons students were impressed I think. Victor certainly was.”

“Krum?”

Hermione gave a rueful smile. “Ah yes, didn’t I tell you? I’ll be attending the ball with Victor Krum.”

Snape lifted an eyebrow. “Interesting. And you don’t think you’ve made changes that will inhibit this?”

“It’s always possible. But I honestly doubt it. He’s been following me around in the library already, I can tell because he has a possee of fangirls that trail behind him like lost puppies. It’s really aggravating.”

“Indeed.” He said, looking quite done with the turn of the conversation. “I have told you my tale, Hermione, now you must tell me what happened between you and my godson.”

Hermione, who still had the Yule Ball on the brain, looked at him incredulously. “Me? And Draco? Oh please, Sn- Severus, we’re  _ friends _ . Allies, partners, yes, but there’s no sort of hidden romance you need to concern yourself about.”

“I’m well aware there’s nothing between you and the boy, foolish girl. I’m asking about the events of yesterday.”

Hermione colored slightly at the misinterpretation, and then again at the implications of his question. Snape was  _ not _ supposed to know about Draco’s return to this time, not until they could be certain of his trustworthiness. According to Draco, that would be never, but Hermione had a little more faith in the bat of the dungeons. Quickly, Hermione decided to say only a small portion of the story to Snape. Namely, she would omit his full return.

“Draco has been having dreams of the future.” She said simply. “Not some sort of Trelawney shit, either. It seems my Draco’s half-landing in the Veil allowed a few of his memories to return, but not all of them. From what he said, he only gets about a year ahead of time, so we shouldn’t have any issues from him.”

Snape looked at her in disbelief. “Are you certain of what he knows?”

“I performed legilimency on him. It’s true. And we’ll be killing Voldemort off before he even knows enough to try and stop us.”

“Don’t underestimate my godson, Hermione. He is a sycophant of his father, and as he gets older he becomes ever more cunning. I wouldn’t let your guard down around him, even if you believe he won’t interfere.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him.  _ Slytherins _ . Did none of them trust a soul besides themselves? “I’ll keep an eye out, but I hardly think he’s a match for me.”

“Very well.” Snape gave a placating nod, dropping the conversation, although she could tell he wasn’t satisfied with it. “Have you considered the seventh horcrux further?”

Hermione knew he was talking about Harry; last time, he had insisted she see if she could be the one to kill him, and that would be that. But Hermione knew this was unlikely to work, it was Harry’s willingness to sacrifice himself that saved him. “I don’t think it merits any consideration.”

“I realize you do not wish to perform the curse on him, but it is arguably the simplest solution. How could it hurt to run the arithmancy equations?”

She realized it probably rankled for him, not knowing enough to run the equations himself. “Even 0.1 percent chance that Harry dies for good is unacceptable, Snape. I need a better solution.”

“You are being foolish,” he said once more. “There is more harm in the unknown than to your sensibilities.” Snape was getting irritated at this point, she could tell.

“Listen, Snape, I’ve thought long and hard about this, despite what you seem to think. It won’t work, it could never work.” Hermione hoped this was enough to satisfy him, and for the next minute it seemed that way. They sat in silence, both simmering in irritation.

Finally, Snape spoke again. “I don’t recommend you trust me completely, Hermione, but you can greatly benefit from my assistance. Your situation is far too dire to fail due to arrogance.” Hermione must’ve looked offended, because he continued imperiously. “The life of a covert agent is not glamorous, nor is it forgiving. You’d best keep both of your eyes out, and not just for enemies you know.”

“Thanks for the advice,  _ Severus, _ but I’m unfortunately all too familiar with keeping my eyes open,” Hermione snarked back. She was a bit annoyed, if she was being honest with herself. Keeping Draco’s secret meant making Snape think she was little more than an overconfident teen. “Goodnight.” She said shortly.

Snape nodded curtly in return. “Before you go,” he said, much more mildly than before. “The ridiculous ball is being announced tomorrow. Enjoy the influx of teenage hormones.”

Hermione groaned. She really couldn’t catch a break.

She stomped back to Gryffindor tower, knowing she was over-reacting and yet not quite caring. “Balderdash.” She growled at the Fat Lady, who gave her a slightly affronted look but obligingly moved aside.

“Mione!” Ron yelled out from across the mostly-empty common room. “Where the bloody hell have you been?”

Hermione scowled at him, unintentionally looking quite like Snape. That’s right, this was one of the only days she wasn’t going to double back – no point in it, really. Except she wasn’t there with her boys, and apparently that was enough to upset Ron. 

“Oh I had a few things to look up in the library.” She said, keeping her voice quite calm. 

Ron looked strangely upset by this, for some reason. “You weren’t in the library, Mione, we looked for you. What have you been doing?”

Hermione was quite fed up at this time. “Can’t I have a bit of time to myself, Ronald? I’ve been helping Harry for two months straight, it’s about time I got to do something for myself. What have  _ you _ been doing, anyway?”

Ron’s ears started turning red, and he snapped back at her. “Don’t pretend you were the only one helping him, Mione. I’ve been helping just as much as you!”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Ron, what is going on with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? I’m not the one lying to their friends! What have you been up to, huh? Sneaking around in the dungeons, disappearing off the map, talking with Victor Krum?”

It hit Hermione like a ton of bricks. The Map! The Marauder’s Map, Ron must’ve looked at it and seen she was in the dungeons. “Ronald, did you tell Harry about this?”

“Hell no!” He said vehemently. “He’s got enough on his plate without learning that you’re  _ betraying  _ him! Fraternizing with the enemy, you are!”

Hermione sighed, sliding her wand out of it’s holster.

“I do love you, Ron,” she said softly. Ron looked at her, completely dumbfounded. “Like a brother. So I’m really sorry I have to do this.” 

Fast as a bullet, she lifted her wand and cast, “ _ Obliviate!” _

  
  



	35. Chapter 34 - Calmer Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione catches a break.

Ron looked at Hermione blearily, a common appearance for those those who had just been obliviated. Hermione followed up the _obliviate_ with an immediate, “ _Homonium revelio!”_ making sure none of the other Gryffindors had seen her spell. She sighed in relief when it revealed nothing.

As Ron continued to come to, Hermione knew she’d have to have a plausible explanation to replace his forgotten memories. Quickly, she slipped her wand back in its holster and put her hand on Ron’s arm. He looked up at her slowly, just seeming to notice she was there.

“Ron! I can’t believe you fell asleep in the common room!” She said, laughing lightheartedly.

He seemed to snap back to reality at that, and stumbled backwards, rubbing his eyes. “Blimey, wha’ time is it?”

“Oh it’s quite late, Ron, you’d best get up to bed.”

He nodded and turned away from her, muttering a, “G’night, Mione,” before disappearing up the boys’ staircase. Hermione sunk into one of the chairs. The common room seemed dark and foreboding without the fire lit, as it was down to cinders. She looked up at the golden lion on the wall, wondering vaguely when she last considered herself a real Gryffindor.

Certainly Godric Gryffindor would have admired her for her courage, wouldn’t he? It took courage to stand up to your friends, Dumbledore taught her that in her first year. But she had a sneaking suspicion that it took more cunning and unyielding ambition to _obliviate_ your best friend instead of telling him the truth. Harry, too, she had manipulated to her own ends – those ends were noble and for their own benefit – but it didn’t change the hard fact that she was manipulating them. Dobby, too, she was using for her own benefit. Snape, as aggravating as he could be, was an ally, and she had ignored his advice on principal. Was Draco the only one she didn’t have to be a Slytherin around?

She heaved herself up from the squishy chair and trudged up the stairs, her thoughts weighing heavily on her mind as she went.

“Ooh, she’s finally back!” Squealed Lavender. “Hermione, darling, who is he?”

Hermione looked at her with the most incredulity she had ever seen. Lavender and Pavarti were having a typical night in, full of Witch Weekly articles, new collages of famous wizards, and -apparently- gossiping about her. What they meant by “he” she had no idea, though.

“Oh c’mon Hermione, you don’t have to hide it from us!” Pavarti squealed excitedly. “Was it that guy from Beauxbatons you keep talking to? Or his sister, you’ve never told us which way you swing-“

Ah, now she got it. They thought she had been rendezvousing with a paramour, and that was why she was out so late. Hermione almost snorted – what would they say if she told them the truth, that she had been chatting with Snape for the last few hours?

Hermione briefly considered telling them about Victor, but as he really hadn’t made any moves yet besides getting himself stuck as a half-shark, she wasn’t about to tell the two biggest chatters in the year about the likelihood that she would date a famous Bulgarian Quiddich player. She couldn’t just leave them hanging, though, so she compromised.

“Oh, am I that obvious?” Hermione grinned coyly, pulling her hair behind her ears in an effort to look shy. “I, erm, I may have met a guy recently.” The girls made such a racket at this, you’d have thought she had just announced that she’d eloped and was now going to move to Bulgaria and have Krum’s babies.

“It’s still really new, so I don’t want to jinx it by talking about it too much.” She said, trying to dissuade them from discussing it further.

Lavender furrowed her brows and asked, “How would talking about something put a jinx on it?”

“Oh, muggle phrase, I suppose. It just means that if I talk about it too early, it may never happen. It’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy,” she said, tapping into one of the only Divination topics she had any remote knowledge of.

This prompted more _ooh_ s and _aah_ s from the girls, and Hermione was spared from having to tell them the name of her mystery man.

She did, however, end up staying far later than she wanted to. She kept telling herself how useful it was to be on good terms with them, and that’s why she let herself be included in their sleepover activities, but it was tedious. Finally, she faked a yawn and begged to be excused, after two more hours of vapid giggling and blathering on.

Blissfully alone in her four-poster, Hermione cast a noise-deafening charm (to block out the continued talking from Lavender and Pavarti) and fell into a satisfyingly deep sleep.

Break

Life went on with a surprising amount of normalcy, as far as Hermione’s schooling was concerned. It was truly amazing, just how much life could turn on its head, and despite the changes to her view of the w

Harry was taking a well-deserved break from training, which she knew not to pester him too much about (yet). Her experience in the last timeline – of Harry treating her comments like an aggravating fly that he couldn’t get rid of – taught her to bide her time. He was a fourteen-year-old boy, after all. There was only so much he could take at one point.

She did find herself grinning like mad when McGonagall announced the Yule Ball, after which Harry and Ron had so much fear in their eyes.

The Yule Ball was one of the few events she was actually, genuinely looking forward to. It had ended rather badly, the last time around, but she had different priorities now, and foresight to change everything. She found herself sitting in the library, waiting for Victor to ask her to the ball. He really was a good friend of hers.

The next day, she was finishing a Transfiguration essay (due after break, because Merlin knew she’d have enough to do when they were off school), and Victor finally left the stacks and approached her table.

“Hermyony,” he said quietly, “may I speak vith you?”

She turned around and smiled, recognizing the dour look of her soon-to-be-date. “Oh, Victor, of course! It’s lovely to see you again.”

“And it is loffly to see you. I haff a question for you, if you do not mind?” He motioned to the chair, and she gestured him into it. Wordlessly, he waved his wand around them, creating a privacy ward.

The girls that followed him around constantly suddenly scattered, remembering something very important they needed to attend to. Hermione nodded her appreciation.

“Headmaster Karkaroff just told us the Yule Ball iz occurring, and vas vondering if you vould like to go vith me.” He was twisting his hands in his lap, a sure sign that he was nervous.

“Absolutely, Victor. Oh, that would be quite fun.”

A part of Hermione had always wondered why Victor had chosen her – potentially at random – to go to the ball with him, but there were actually many reasons. She liked to think that he honestly enjoyed her company, and enjoyed that she cared more for his mind than his fame. The more cynical part of her, which sounded more and more like Snape or Draco, realized there was some strategy there as well. She was one of the best friends of the fourth champion, and would surely be able to spill the beans to him if he convinced her.

Admittedly, it was probably a combination of the two. He must’ve noticed she hadn’t fawned over him like the majority of the Hogwarts girls, and she had the potential benefit of “enemy” information. Whatever his motivations, she found herself enjoying his company the last time, and she was pleased to accept.

They stayed in the library for a bit longer, chatting at first and then entering a comfortable state of mutual studying. Eventually, Hermione had to say her goodbyes. She had felt so bad about _obliviating_ Ron that she offered to teach him alteration charms, to take the frills off his ugly tan robes. When she explained this to Victor, he got a good laugh about it, and suggested a few fun effects to add.

When she made it to the common room, Ron was sitting alone by the fire. She looked down at the robes with a disgusted look. They really were quite horrible.

“Thanks for helping me with this, Mione. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Ron said, sounding very greatful.

Hermione snorted. “Well, you’d just end up going with some very… erm, unique robes, wouldn’t you?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’d rather go home for the hols than go looking like _that.”_ He gestured to the robes to emphasize his point.

“Well there’s only one way to fix it, then. What color would you like, Ron?” She asked, flicking it between some alarming shades of magenta and periwinkle.

“It’s alright, Mione, I can do the color.” He said, looking green.

She giggled slightly. “Are you certain you don’t want magenta? It’ll go so well with your eyes.”

Fred and George, who had just walked down from the portrait hole, roared with laughter. “Oi, Ronnikins, I think you managed to find the only robes in _existence_ that look worse than your old ones!” Fred choked out between breathless gasps.

Ron reddened slightly, and flicked his wand to turn the de-frilled robes to a nice dark blue. “What do your robes look like, anyway?” He grumbled unhappily.

“Oh dear, dear brother, we will be stealing the show!” said George.

Fred continued. “See, we can’t spend all our hard earned coins on Canary Creams and fake wands – we also bought ourselves some _decent_ robes.”

“Mum was pleased that we wanted to spend our allowance on robes, I think.”

“Well, only because the robes were covering all the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!”

They broke into laughter again, and even Ron cracked a smile at the image of smuggling joke items under some dress robes.

“We just came back from a meeting with McGonagall,” Fred said happily. “Just heard about the ball – wild stuff, they’ve even got the Weird Sisters coming!”

Ron didn’t look cheered by the Weird Sisters, however. He seemed very nervous about the whole thing, even with his new formal wear. “D’you know who you want to take?” He asked Fred and George.

George grinned, and said, “Yeah, I reckon I’ll take Angelina.”

“I’m going for Rachel, I think.” Rachel Crowley was a Ravenclaw seeker, also a sixth year.

Fred and George looked over at Hermione, who had thus far kept quiet. “Anyone asked you yet, Mione?”

“Well, now that you ask, someone has.”

“No way!” Ron exclaimed.

“Who was it?” said Fred excitedly.

She looked down slightly, pretending to blush. “Oh, I don’t know if I can say. He might want to keep it quiet, you know. But I said yes, of course. It should be a lovely time.”

 “Who wanted to go with you, Mione?” He seemed disturbed at the idea that anyone would want to take Hermione to the ball, and Hermione found herself getting upset despite herself.

Fred and George cut in before another argument could start. “Oh Ronnie,”

“Little Ronnie, doesn’t even realize the beauty right in front of him.”

“Look at that beautiful hair, those dainty, ink stained fingers, who _wouldn’t_ want to take Hermione to the ball?”

Hermione didn’t know whether to be pleased or to laugh. “Thank you, I think.” she said tentatively, and one of the twins winked at her.


	36. Chapter 35 - Charms Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the fall semester approaches.

In the days leading up to the break and the Yule Ball, Hermione found herself spending more and more time with her fellow Gryffindors. It was very comforting, to sit in the common room with so many friendly faces. People were in high spirits, and it reflected in how they treated one another. She did have to turn Neville down, when he got up the courage to ask her to the dance.

She advised him to invite Luna, for the girl wouldn’t be able to go without him escorting her. She had no doubts that Ginny would worm her way in – Ginny was feisty like that, always willing to fight to be included.

Victor had taken to sitting with her at the library, and although he hadn’t asked her a single question about the second task, she could tell he was already researching sea creatures. Hermione wondered if Karkaroff had straight up told him about the egg, and that was how he’d figured it out almost immediately after the first task.

They never sat together for too long, however, because he had a habit of disappearing whenever his posse showed up. It was nice of him, considering the flack Hermione had received after the ball, last time around. She briefly wondered if it was worth telling everyone before and getting it over with.

On the other hand, that would mean facing it now, and people may still get up in arms after the ball anyway. No, it was much better to make sure the boys got themselves sorted with a bit more elegance than last time, and hopefully Ron wouldn’t blow up at her as he was prone to. She had been noticing he was less combative recently, perhaps because she disengaged from their arguments as quickly as possible, or because some sort of maturity had entered his thick skull.

She rather doubted it was the latter, honestly. Even when she had briefly dated him after the “final” battle, he was incredibly antagonistic, always defending his opinions even when he realized they were wrong. It was just a fact, Ron was stubborn and short-sighted. She was honestly happy that this Ron had no misconceptions of her interest at this point in time. So for now, she was sitting in a delicate balance of peace with her fellow Gryffindors.

Unfortunately, Hermione couldn’t sit back and relax in Gryffindor tower the whole time. No, she had a task to complete.

Draco, even five days after he fully returned to his younger body, was still experiencing a whole lot of pain. She had spent almost four hours in the Room of Requirement with him, just trying to figure out what exactly was wrong.

“I just don’t get it.” She said for the millionth time. “There’s nothing in my diagnosis charms that even remotely seems like it would cause you pain.” She didn’t voice it again, but she wondered if the pain was in his mind, instead of his body. It just didn’t make sense.

“We’ve gone over this, Hermione. It’s not a normal pain, and it’s definitely not psychosomatic, thank you very much. I can still function, so let’s just find something that works better to treat it. With any luck, it’ll fade with time.”

“Oh but we can’t rely on it simply fading, and I just can’t leave you in pain like this. There _has to_ be a solution.” She wrung her hands nervously, tuttering over him as he sat on the same comfy chair he had in his future study. “I know you don’t want to involve him, but-“

“We are _not_ going to Snape!” Draco snapped, brows drawn together in pain. “He’s already noticed that something’s wrong with me, he looks at me in class like I’m acting uncharacteristically, and goddammit, Hermione, I might be. _Someone_ erased my memories, remember?”

She scowled. It was difficult, sure, but having Draco back would be better in the long run. If only they could solve the pain-

“If it doesn’t go away in two days, we’re going to Snape. We can make him take an unbreakable vow, he’s proved himself willing to accept precautions.”

“What do you mean, Mione? What precautions did you take?”

Hermione grinned mischeviously. “Do you remember that potion I was working on, back in 2000?”

“Which one?” Draco asked drolly. “There were only about twenty, if I recall.”

“Fair enough.” She grinned at him. It felt good to be able to connect with Draco again, and reminisce about the past despite their current challenges. They were a _team_ , they would always be a team. And with Draco back, she knew she could really do this.

“Do you remember the mind-shielding potion I was making? That would protect from legilimency and veritaserum?”

“The one we planned on using for any spies we could get to infiltrate the ranks, you mean?”

“Yes, that’s the one.” Hermione nodded, sinking into a chair next to Draco. “Well, I told Snape that we used it pretty much all the time in the future, for all of our agents – and it wasn’t lying, really, I did plan to use it, but, well, I made a batch and stabilized the brew, the arithmancy equations all added up, and he, erm, took it.”

Draco looked flabbergasted. “My godfather took a potion of unknown origin, just to hear your story? Severus Snape? Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?”

“The very same.” She said cheerfully, a bit proud of herself. “He didn’t seem very happy about it, and I’m very glad that we didn’t end up _erasing_ the memory, which was a problem with the first trials – you know, the one on that death eater we captured, what was her name?”

“Merula Svinkle.” Draco supplied.

“Well yes, we discussed my entire story and then I told him to take the potion, to protect my secret. Honestly, it wouldn’t have mattered if he really did lose his memories – I eliminated the side effects – but he still would’ve been suspicious of me, because I didn’t account for just how much of a paranoid bastard he is.”

Draco let out a bark of laughter. “Never underestimate how paranoid he can be. He’s the one who taught me most of my habits. But all the same, Mione, that doesn’t keep him from acting on anything he learned. It doesn’t keep him from making _my_ life extremely difficult, either.

“And if he thinks I only have partial memories, like I did before you brought me back, well then that’s almost worse. He’ll expect me to be a downright bastard, and try to limit my actions whenever possible so I don’t cause you problems.” He seemed as though he was only just realizing these things as he said them, and his face lit with the dark realization.

“All the more reason to tell him, Draco. Don’t you think he would help you too, if he knew?”

Draco scoffed. “Severus will only help Severus, Hermione. If he thinks our plan will fail, he’ll switch over immediately.”

“I disagree.” And she did. She knew more about Severus than Draco thought. She knew that he was a more honorable man than even he gave himself credit for, and she knew he would be willing to make sacrifices for the cause he believed in, or for the people he loved. And Draco definitely fell under that – hell, he made a _second_ vow to Narcissa, just to protect Draco. All that while upholding his spy status and continuing to fight for what was right. No, Snape was more trustworthy than he thought.

“It doesn’t matter if you disagree. I’m not doing it.” He huffed, and then hunched over as a spasm of pain hit you.

“Oh Draco, are you alright?” She gasped, and quickly cast, “ _Carissio_!”

Almost immediately, Draco relaxed from his bent-over position. “Merlin, Hermione, what did you just cast on me?”

“Oh, just a little muscle relaxing spell. It’s meant to be used when you’ve got a Charlie horse, or a tension headache. I just overpowered it a bit.”

“A bit? I feel amazing! Why the bloody hell didn’t you do that earlier?”

“I can’t, Draco. You know a charm would lose it’s potency over time. If you’re really stuck with pain like this, you’ll have to find a better long term solution and save that for emergencies. If we just cast it over and over, you’d eventually become immune.”

“How long does one spell last?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

Hermione bit her lip. Her copy of _Advanced Charms Theory, Book Eight_ , which was intended for students pursuing a charms mastery, gave very strict guidelines for medicinal charms. Generally, one could cast a charm once every day for ten days, before needing to take a break of ten days for the body to, for lack of a better word, forget the effects of the charm. If cast more than once a day, or more than ten days, the wizard’s magic would start rejecting the charm.

It was kind of how a virus would build up immunity to a certain medication, Hermione thought. The virus would be partially fought off by the drugs, but certain mutations might stay alive. Then those would multiply, and soon enough the only cells alive were the ones that could fight off the medicine. Just how the body had to accept the magic of the spell, whatever was causing problems would eventually learn to reject it.

She explained this to Draco, who was less than impressed by her explanation. “I suppose an easier way to define it would be as a sort of hourglass.” She asked the Room of Requirement for a big brass hourglass, which it supplied happily. “The _carissio_ charm basically sets the hourglass upside-down, with your pain now floating in this top part-“ she gestured to the hourglass with her wand, and the grains of sand flew upward, unnaturally stuck to the top of the glass.

“-And it holds it there by filling it with magic,” she filled the bottom with white pebbles, representing her spell, “so by the time the sand falls back down, it can’t hurt your muscles on the bottom.”

“And how does this degrade over time?”

“Well, every day, you get a little less potency. By the tenth day, you might only have a little layer of magic on the bottom before the sand falls down. Your magic has just started to reject the external magic because it’s been over-exposed.”

Draco looked impatient by her explanation, and ran a hand through his hair. “Alright, well I’m going to use it for now. I haven’t felt this good since I had all my limbs!”

He looked over at her, trying to get a laugh out of her, but she frowned instead. She was thinking back to when she came back, wondering why she didn’t have quite the same shock he did with suddenly having more fingers than she was used to. She looked down at her right hand, flexing the fingers thoughtfully. Draco _had_ become much more disfigured than she, perhaps that was why?

But no, if he was only feeling this way because of the dysmorphia that came with regaining limbs, she would’ve felt it too. Then perhaps it was because his real mind laid dormant while his younger self ran amok, unintentionally grabbing his memories? Although that didn’t make sense either, for he would have been in pain long before now.

“Hang on,” she said suddenly. Draco’s eyes came up to meet hers, and she realized she had become unresponsive for the last few moments. “So when I got here, I was in a six-day coma.”

Draco stared back at her, utter bewilderment plastered on his face. “Yes, and?”

“Well, I was in a coma for six days. You’ve been back for five days, but you were already sort of back before. Maybe our memories integrating with our past-selves caused some sort of disturbance, that I slept through-“

Draco cut in excitedly, “But I didn’t sleep through because I was already partially in my younger self’s mind! Hermione, you’re brilliant!” He looked quite pleased with this. “Run the equations, let’s see how likely chronic pain would be-“

“Alongside the re-immersion of your consciousness via subconscious manipulation-“ Hermione jumped in again.

“-and the two varying timelines with my earlier visions! Oh Hermione, this could be it!” He smiled charmingly at her, for once seeming to forget his pain. “Listen. You know far more Arithmancy than anyone else, besides maybe Septima, so I’m going to leave this to you. But let me know what conclusions you find. I’m afraid you’ve given me some new hope, and it’s making it even harder to accept that we may be wrong.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. She saw the resignation already starting to creep back into his eyes, which were again colored with pain. “If we’re wrong about this, it doesn’t matter. We’ll still solve it, Draco. I promise.”

And she would, that was certain. Even now, she was plotting all the different ways to solve Draco’s problem, from running the Arithmancy equations to researching potions and charms. For now, Draco was casting a pretty steady muscle relaxing charm, and so all she needed to do was figure it out before ten days were up. Fortunately, it was almost winter break, so they would have plenty of time to work on it.


	37. Chapter 36 - Timely Actions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione does some traveling and addresses some problems.

Time, Hermione’s long-standing beau, was a terrible partner. It tended to run ever so slowly when she wanted to move forward, and strike like a snake when she needed more time. Hermione would have loved nothing more than to research for ages and ages, but even she could only turn back the clock so many times before it became nothing short of ridiculous.

Draco’s sixth day of almost debilitating, chronic pain was the first day of break, so Hermione was using the fifth day with abandon to run equations, test potions theories, and hopefully reach a conclusion before the end of the day.

After her long talk with Draco, she turned back the clock and hid herself in her classroom. After fifteen hours of almost constant study (broken only by Dobby’s helpful assistance, when he forced her to eat at least three meals) she had established that the spell could stay pain-free for seven hours if he didn’t move at all, but any movement would minimize the spell’s effectiveness.

Good for sleep, then, but nothing else. She did find evidence that potions and charms wouldn’t interact badly with one another, so they could switch off between potions, pastes, and spells while limiting the body’s resistance.

She didn’t want to just band-aid the problem, however. Draco couldn’t just rely on a cocktail of potions and charms for the rest of his life, not when it was clearly a magical reaction to _something._

And if it was a magical reaction, then it had a magical cause. She started scribbling at her desk furiously. This could be it, if she could trace back the magic to the source, then she could figure out why the hell Draco was still feeling effects of it days after it started. She was finally setting up the arithmancy equation with her and Draco’s original equation, and just put her wand to parchment when she heard a rustling sound. Something scraped the ground beside her bed, just beyond the screen.

“Dobby?” She called out.

No answer. She held her wand up quickly, snapping to her feet. “Who’s there?”

A rustle came a second time, sounding less like someone scuffing the ground and more like scurrying. Casting a silent shield, she slowly approached the bed. Who could have made it in here? The only people who had a chance of entry were Dobby and Snape – Draco didn’t even know where this room was.

With a wave of her hand, the screen was blown to the side, and she saw-

Herself. At least, someone who looked like her, cowering behind the bed and looking quite panicked at getting caught.

“Who are you?” She asked coldly.

“Bloody buggering _fuck_ ,” the other Hermione said passionately. Hermione winced – was that really what she sounded like? She sounded like a child on a temper tantrum. “You’re not supposed to see me.”

“What the bloody hell are you doing in my skin? How did you get my hair for Polyjuice? I keep a proximity ward up at all times.”

The other girl said nothing, looking up at her defiantly. “I _know_ you have a proximity ward. Just like I know you’ve got an invisible shield up that you think can stop me, and just like I know that _this_ will work.”

And before Hermione thought to do anything at all, she was slammed over the head with the base of a lamp, and knew no more.

* * *

_She was floating past a brook, her hair splayed behind her in an invisible wind, and feet dangling inches off the ground. She felt weightless, free, better than an imperio, and like she never wanted to leave here. She wandered past the brook, past an ivy-ridden cottage, and came upon a tall, tall tower._

_And very fast, she was no longer gazing at the tower from afar, but standing inside it. She knew she was inside it, just as she knew she could walk through the walls in this building, but a small part of her felt quite jarred by it._

_The entire floor made a circle, completely rounded on every side. Dizzyingly, everything in the room seemed to be circular as well, making the whole place a bubbly maze._

_Hermione tilted her head to the side. Why was she here? What was happening?_

_She didn’t know. All she knew was that center of the room contained a circular basin. A pensive._

_Upon approach, the pensive looked, for lack of a better word, angry. It was not the usual, cool blue color of memories, but an angry, brownish red. It didn’t swirl calmly, memories jumping over one another, but instead crashed like a windy sea. She tried to put her face to it, to enter any of the memories, to see what was wrong._

_A terrible burning sensation came over her, and she was taken away from the pensive, the tower, and the bubbling brook._

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes. She had been placed quite comfortably on her camp bed, tucked in like she hadn’t been for over twenty years. It was sort of nice, if she ignored the burning pain in her head and the fact that someone had knocked her out and then tucked her in.

Angrily, she unwound herself from the bedcovers, and noticed a rolled-up bit of parchment as it fluttered to the floor. She unsheathed her wand, which had been put back in its holster. Casting a few quick charms to make sure the parchment was safe, she picked it up. It read the most infuriatingly short message:

 _A considerable amount of pain can be saved tonight. Seven turns should do it_. - _AD_

She huffed. Only two people could’ve made that reference, and one of them was Albus Dumbledore. The other was herself, and she found herself grinning despite herself. Sometimes, she really was _brilliant._ Her future self, after getting caught (like she must have known she would, for she had lived the other side already) knocked her former self out and wrote herself a note, like she must’ve known she would, and set her past in motion.

It was a dizzying circle, but Hermione gained two things out of it: one, she knew what she had to do to now, which was turn seven hours back and finish her work. Two, she knew that she would figure out Draco’s problem tonight, for she wouldn’t have made that reference to herself. And putting Dumbledore’s initials at the end, well that was her best bet of insuring she remembered the reference. She had done all she could, without disrupting the timeline by telling herself what was to come.

And thinking of Dumbledore, well that made her think about Pensives and her strange dream. The tower, the strange familiar cottage, the brook- she’d seen it all before, first when she was transported back in time and second when she’d invaded Draco’s mind. But the pensive was new, and it looked _angry_. How could a pensive look angry? Why would it have writhed around in there like some wild animal, and what did it all _mean_?

Checking the time, Hermione realized she had been asleep for four hours. She sat down at her desk, still reeling from the discombobulating sleep. That meant future-her had wanted her to either stay here for three more hours, _then_ go back and knock herself out, or that she was meant to go back seven hours, accomplish _something_ for three hours, then knock herself out and continue on with her day.

She put her head in her hands, thoroughly done with the amount of circular thinking this required.

Beneath her, left on the table, was her Arithmancy equations, still unfinished. She wanted to judge the likelihood of getting chronic pain in Draco’s situation. It was all written out, and all she had to do was tap her wand to parchment and get the results.

Figuring it was better to find out now, she cast the spell.

It was 99% certain that Draco would develop chronic pain after his travel through time. But it was 40% certain that it would dissolve on it’s own – a depressing statistic. Hermione sighed, shuffling the papers on her desk. She _hated_ this. Hated having to watch Draco in pain, hated the time games that she was forced to play with herself. And because of these statistics, she would have spend ages writing out arithmancy equations.

Unless… maybe her vision was a hint? Some sort of expression of her unconscious mind that understood some basic problem, like the disturbing look of the reddened prophecy, writhing in its bowl like a wild animal. She frowned hard, the lines creasing her face into worry. If his memories had been locked away before, it was like these memories were trapped against their will. They _wanted_ to be free.

Hermione didn’t know too much about magical neurology (that being said, she still knew quite a bit more than the majority of magical Britain), but she _did_ know that memories could be manipulated: removed, restored, pulled out, copied, protected… who was to say they couldn’t be trapped as well?

But if they were trapped – she did some very fast calculations to imagine that possibility – Draco was in a good deal of danger. The balance between memories was delicate, she knew that much from her experiments with the memory shield potion. If Draco didn’t get help in the next few days, he would look like Gilderoy Lockheart in the Janus Thickley ward: just a shell, barely even functioning, and completely useless to her.

She really needed to help Draco, tonight. Honestly, she really needed a master legilimens to examine Draco’s mind. It was no wonder he couldn’t remember the timeline before she poked his subconscious into chaos. He had _two_ timelines stuck in his mind, and the brain just wasn’t meant to integrate more memories than it already had at the drop of a hat. That was why pensives had to be _watched_ , not just absorbed. By watching the memory, you actually created a new memory in your own mind, that consisted of the time inside the pensieve. Hermione figured that her body handled this by knocking herself out, then integrating the future memories so fast she couldn’t do anything else at all. That was why she was out for six days, at the end of third year. It was finally beginning to make sense.

Unfortunately, knowing the problem didn’t make it any easier to achieve. There were two legilimens at a higher functioning level than her in the school. Only one of them was a true master legilimens, and that was Severus Snape. The other was Albus Dumbledore, who was far too “moral” to delve into mastery-level legilimency. It took quite a bit of amoral dedication to forcibly read other’s minds. If Hermione had to guess, Severus was partially a natural, and decided to foster that growth as he got older.

But however he gained the skills, he was still the best choice. And Draco, the consummate Slytherin he had become, was unwilling to trust his own _godfather_. To be fair, his godfather was a turncoat spy for the light, but so was Draco at this point.

She realized that she was arguing with herself instead of making the argument with Draco himself, and made herself stop.

What she really needed was verification that Snape was the best choice. If he was the only one who could help Draco, she would do it even if Draco was fighting tooth and nail. She did the only reasonable thing in her situation: she ran the arithmancy equations.

According to her not inconsiderable skill at arithmancy, she had an 80% chance of helping Draco manage the festering memories by herself. Severus had a 90% chance, which was honestly better than she could’ve hoped for. On a whim, Hermione tested how they would do if they teamed up, and tried to invade his mind together. She saw the answer, snorted, and immediately dismissed the idea. 4% was not her idea of good odds.

But what this did mean, was she would need to convince Draco to let Severus invade his mind and either free the memories, remove them, or destroy them. And Severus would have to agree to this, and be willing to try for 90% odds.

Sighing once more, Hermione checked her watch. It was two in the morning, and she had to turn back to nine to convince Severus to help her. That would mean there were three Hermione’s running around, for she had turned back to study at ten o’clock. She swallowed her pride and stepped into Myrtle’s bathroom to turn. It was the most secluded place in the castle, as long as the girl didn’t blab.

“Hello, Myrtle,” Hermione said carefully, making sure the ghost was elsewhere. Hearing nothing in reply, she entered a stall, cast a privacy ward for good measure, and turned back.

She panted as she landed at nine o’clock, reminding herself to take it easy for the next hour. She had forgotten just how exhausted she would get when there were three Hermiones at one time. So instead of using the magically-fuelled staircase that skipped four floors, Hermione took the long way down to the dungeons, sidling from hidden hallway, past trick stairs and irritating portraits, and finally making it to Severus’s office.

She knocked, mentally preparing herself for some sort of justification depending what company Snape was keeping (“Oh professor, I had a question about the test we took last week that simply _cannot_ wait!”), but let out a sigh of relief when he appeared at the door, quite alone.

“Miss Granger,” Snape said imperiously, glancing down the hall. “Come in.”

“Tea?” He asked, already starting to pour water.

Hermione shook her head. “Not tonight, Severus, sorry. I need your help.”

His eyes widened incrementally, her only indication that this surprised him. “Something urgent, I suppose? Does it concern the horcruxes?” He set down the teapot, looking a bit disgruntled that he would be denied his tea.

Some part of Hermione was giggling insanely. If she told her Gryffindor friends that she was standing in Professor Snape’s office, making him upset because she refused to drink _tea_ with him; well, they may very well explode. Forcing this unreasonable laughter back to an aban doned part of her mind, she answered calmly. “No, not the Horcruxes. It’s about Draco.”

“What has he done? Finally decided he’s a threat?”

“The only person Draco is a threat to is himself. See, the thing is…” and Hermione started explaining the situation at the speed of light. Fortunately, Severus was more than capable of keeping up.

“You _poked_ his subconscious? Hermione, I hope you realize that sort of action is the height of foolishness-“

“I _know that_ , Severus!” Hermione cut him off abruptly. “Don’t think I don’t know what a mistake I made. And he’s been in pain for the last week, and it makes it worse to know it was _all my fault._ ”

Snape stood at his full height, a towering foot above her. “You made a mistake. And you lied to me.” He hissed. “Any more stupidity and I’ll start thinking I’ve allied with the wrong person.”

“Oh shut it, Severus. You know I’ve got the best chance of defeating Voldemort, which solves all your problems. Plus, I only withheld the whole truth because Draco requested it. And I’m telling you now, because you need to know.” Her hair, usually pretty tame under her charms, had turned wiry, small sparks flying through the strands. “I don’t care if you think I’m a _foolish little Gryffindor,_ I don’t care if you don’t like me. All I ask is you help me save your godson from his own mind!”

Snape looked at her impassively. She breathed deeply, and the sparks settled in her hair. “You are right, of course. He is an important ally to have, and it would be quite unfortunate if his mind were left to rot; it might even garner some attention from unsavory sources, and put us both in danger. I do insist you tell me the whole picture when you do bother to inform me of events, Miss Granger. Even Albus is skilled enough at Legilimency to recognize the symptoms, if he knew the situation.”

“So you’ll help him?” Hermione said hopefully.

Snape nodded. “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading and reviewing. Sorry my updates have been slower, real life took over for a while. I’ll try to keep up two updates a week, but no promises. I am planning to finish the fic by late August, when I go back to college. But I also intended the story to be only fifty chapters, and we’re not even at the Yule Ball yet. Thanks for sticking with me while I work this stuff out!
> 
> Credits to Duj for the ideas on other medications for chronic muscle pain.
> 
> I looked up the actual length that time turners can go back in time. According to Pottermore, it’s five hours, and then a bunch of time anomalies pop up. It was actually pretty cool, apparently a witch aged five centuries when they sent her back for four minutes, and then time unraveled slightly and the misuse of magic office had to cover it up.


	38. Chapter 37 - Snakes and Lions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione deals with the aftermath of Snape and Draco's meeting, as well as her time travel.

Severus thought it would be better for him to go alone to talk to Draco, confident that he could both fix the problem and convince him of his reliability. Hermione disagreed strongly on principal, but had to give up when he mentioned it would take place in Draco’s dorm. The head of Slytherin giving his godson a late-night visit was much less conspicuous than a Gryffindor girl invading the fourth-year boy’s dorms.

She desperately wanted to steal Harry’s invisibility cloak to supervise, but she realized with a jolt that she had to maintain the timeline before doing anything else. It actually took her a considerable amount of time to figure out _where_ all the copies of Hermione were at any given point, as she’d been too wrapped up in what she was doing to check the exact time.

The “original Hermione,” the one who had spent the day talking to Draco, was just about to turn back to start researching. At the same time, “researcher Hermione” needed to be knocked out at ten o’clock, for she had woken up at two after having slept for four hours.

Then _that_ Hermione would be turning back time to talk to Snape, and then become the current iteration – herself. It was dizzying to think about, but the last thing she needed was to mess up the timeline and have to go back a _fourth_ time to clean everything up. She was already exhausted thinking about staying up six more hours to replace the version of her in Myrtle’s bathroom.

She ended up running to return in time to knock herself out – she set a disillusionment charm and snuck behind the bed. It was really quite bizzare, as she scuffed the ground and heard her former self say, “Dobby?”

She stayed silent for a few seconds, then scurried backwards to the head of the bed.

“Who are you?” came her panicked voice. Hermione heard the shuffle of her wand leaving her holster and the curtain was thrown aside.

“Bloody buggering _fuck!”_ She said emphatically, screwing her eyes up in concentration. She was trying to use the same intonation as she had before, and it was more difficult than she’d imagined. “You’re not supposed to see me!”

Other Hermione looked incensed at this. She stared at herself in wonder – was this what she looked like, spoke like? Blimey, but she never realized that she was _scary._ “What the bloody hell are you doing in my skin? How did you get my hair for Polyjuice? I keep a proximity ward up at all times.” The other girl finished passionately. Hermione kept herself from snorting.

Out of the other-Hermione’s vision, she clutched at the lamp by her camp bed. Hermione replied hotly, “I _know_ you have a proximity ward. Just like I know you’ve got an invisible shield up that you think can stop me, and just like I know that _this_ will work.” With a satisfying slam, she brought the lamp around and smacked Hermione on the head.

She winced, feeling an echo of the pain in her own body. It was still throbbing, but damn her if she didn’t just hurt herself a little more by hurting her past self.

Careful to avoid both magic and touching her other self (she wasn’t sure how that would affect the timeline at all, and didn’t really want to know the answer), she tucked herself into the covers. It was a bit weird, she thought to herself, that she didn’t find this altogether insane. Perhaps she _was_ insane already, from all the time travel; how else could she comfortably tuck herself in to maintain the timeline without seeing it as the strangest thing she’d ever done?

Well, she had done stranger things, she mused. Perhaps it was overexposure to strangeness, she’d just learned to roll with the punches at this point. She wrote the note to herself, giggling as she wrote, “ _A considerable amount of pain can be saved tonight. Seven turns should do it_. – _AD,”_ and placed it on the blankets of her sleeping self.

Yep, she was probably quite insane. But now she had two hours before she needed to replace herself in Myrtle’s bathroom, she could go and check on Draco and Severus.

To someone with Hermione’s skill in sneaking about, getting to the Slytherin common room was like taking a walk in the park. She used a variation of a Disillusionment charm that hadn’t been invented yet – wouldn’t be invented for five years – and walked calmly downstairs. She doubted Dumbledore could even find her, as she was. The paintings certainly couldn’t, nor could Filch on patrol.

But when she reached the Slytherin common room, she hesitated. Was this the right choice? Should she just _trust Snape_ , like he asked her to, and catch a nap?

Trust was the issue here, and trust was something she found very difficult to come by. Especially from the Potions Master. He had proven himself trustworthy in the past – she knew he could’ve reported to a multitude of people, but he _hadn’t_. He didn’t even give her up to Dumbledore, which she had half expected.

But Draco didn’t trust him, not yet at least. And she wanted his trust, too. Would he feel like she doublecrossed him, without consulting him first?

But her Arithmancy equations were _so_ telling, the situation was so dire – he would forgive her, wouldn’t he? Like he forgave her for her actions in this new timeline, and for causing the pain in the first place?

She stood there, wand still held aloft to brush the painting aside, thinking.

No, she would let this play out. She turned on her heel and stalked down the corridor, around the corner, and almost walked up the stairs. But before she did, she took a glance back, and saw the door to Snape’s quarters. That was where she’d wait.

Without wasting any more time, Hermione wiped away the wards and stepped into the room. She sat in her traditional armchair, and poured herself a cup of Earl Grey for good measure. And she waited.

Her eyes started drooping, lulled out of awareness by warm tea, physical exhaustion, and the peace that came with finally dropping her shields.

* * *

“Hermione,” she heard distantly. Something was shaking her shoulder, and she brushed it away angrily. “Hermione, wake up.”

“Good bloody luck, Godfather. She sleeps like a petrified troll.” A snort came from above her, and she slowly became aware of the world around her. Ah yes, she was in Snape’s quarters, and apparently Draco was here.

“I heard that, you ass,” she said, opening her eyes finally. Above her stood a tired-looking Snape, holding her cup of tea. Draco was seated in the armchair farthest from her, looking every bit the pompous ass. “What time is it?”

“One in the morning. How long have you been here?” Draco said, seemingly baffled that Hermione would step foot in Snape’s office, much less take a cat nap.

She smiled humorlessly. “Around an hour, then. I meant to wait till Severus returned and see what the damage was, but it seems I got two Slytherins for the price of one.”

Snape rolled his eyes and retreated to his own chair, setting the teacup down on the desk. “A bargain,” he drawled, “Fortunately, your calculations were correct. Draco is no longer experiencing pain, but his mind was not very far off from self-destruction. Apparently,” he gave Draco an annoyed glance, “this dunderhead planned to make his memories dormant without someone to trigger the restoration process.”

“You’re not saying he used a timed _obliviate_ on himself, are you?” Hermione asked, looking at Draco with a combination of worry and exasperation.

“ _He’s_ right here. And of course I did. I didn’t want to muck up the timeline before I had to act.”

“Oh of course,” Hermione quipped back. “So useful, you didn’t even wake up in time to change the timeline for the better. Draco, there was a _reason_ we were to cast the _obliviates_ on each other, instead of on ourselves. Didn’t you listen to my explanation before we left? It’s only effective if cast on another person!”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen you do far worse things, Mione. And we’re here, aren’t we? Maybe we stumbled along the way, but we’re in better shape by far than we were in the past. Erm, the future, I mean. It’s all water under the bridge.”

“As enjoyable as this is,” Severus interrupted, “It is still one in the morning, and I have been forced into decorating for the blasted Yule Ball tomorrow. Feel free to continue this conversation, but do it somewhere _else._ ”

They both glanced at Severus, seeming to have forgotten that he was in the room, too.

“Right.” Said Draco briskly. She realized he probably felt a bit awkward with Severus, especially because he must have gone through Draco’s head in the last hour. She would have to ask Draco about it, after she finally got some more _sleep._ Hermione had been awake for about forty hours, by her count. “Well,” Draco interrupted her thoughts, “We’ll be going, then. Thanks for the help, godfather.”

Severus gave him a nod, as much of a ‘you’re welcome’ as she expected he ever gave.

She gave the man a small smile. “Thank you, Severus. Your help has been really invaluable.”

“You can both thank me from getting out of my quarters.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright, we’re going! Mione, are you awake enough for a chat?”

“Yes.” She said certainly. If Draco wanted to talk, she would be happy to stay awake for a few more hours. But there was something she was forgetting, she was sure of it.

“Dammit!” She yelled, startling both of the Slytherins. “I’ve got to run, sorry. Draco, we can meet later, alright?”

“Yeah, but where are you going?” Draco looked startled by her sudden change in demeanor.

“I’ve forgotten to go replace myself in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom!”

“Moaning Myrtle… replace yourself? What do you mean?”

She smacked a hand on her head. She needed to leave, _now,_ but she also wanted Draco to understand – their relationship was still too tenuous, too uncertain. “I took the time turner back again to replace myself after figuring out what was wrong, erm, what was going on with your brain. So I need to go replace the Hermione who replaced earlier Hermione, because I’ve already gotten her. It’s my one last loose end.”

“Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom?” Draco said, apparently stuck on the idea. “Hang on, it must’ve been empty. If no one saw you, can’t you just continue on with your day?”

She rolled her eyes despite herself. “You of all people should understand time theory. You can’t just _disappear_ out of thin air in the timeline. If you’ve traveled back in time, you have to physically travel back there to complete the circle. Otherwise, Whipple’s Laws of Time Consistency would be broken, and time itself would try to make up for the discrepancy.”

“I _know_ Whipple’s Laws of Time Consistency. Do I look like an _idiot?_ But Hermione number three - or however many of you there are running around right now – had to appear out of nowhere too, right? Why isn’t that a discrepancy to the timeline?”

“It just isn’t, Draco.” She said impatiently. “There’s a lot of theories as to why it happens, but appearing in one place is much different than disappearing in another. And it’s not like disapparating, before you ask. It’s due to the actual fabric of reality, if you don’t replace yourself after time traveling, you’re displacing events that would happen while you’re there. That’s why time travel is difficult, you can’t just spin a wheel and turn up wherever you want. It’s time manipulation.”

Severus re-entered the conversation silkily, saying, “It’s the same discrepancy that caused you so much pain recently, Draco. You and Hermione created a rift when you traveled back in time, she just had the benefit of being unconscious while her unconscious assimilated the ideas. Because you decided to hide the memories in your own mind, you put even more stress on the memories. They had to be reconciled or they would have torn your brain apart.”

Hermione looked at him with what must’ve been disbelief, because he continued defensively, “I know Whipple’s Laws just as well as you do. Did you think I wouldn’t learn more about time travel after you revealed your secrets to me?”

Hermione shrugged. “It doesn’t surprise me.”

“Hang on, hang on, so every time Hermione travels through time, she could cause the same rifts that almost broke my memories?” Said Draco, looking a little sick.

“Well, yes,” Hermione said quickly. “It does have a bit of danger to it, but it’s generally so simple that it’s not a problem. I just have to replace myself at the end of the day, that’s all.”

Draco snorted. “So they gave a _thirteen-year-old_ a device that could destroy not only her own mind, but also the rest of reality?”

“I’m trustworthy!” She said defensively.

“You are Minerva’s golden girl, and exceptions can be made for exceptional students with proper amount of drive.” Snape said drably. “It’s much more common than you might believe, Draco.

And I suggest you go finish your time cycle, Hermione, before you two wreck time twice in one year. But most importantly, _get out of my quarters.”_


	39. Chapter 38 - Thestrals in London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione talks to Snape and Draco.

The next few days passed with a fleeting normality that was usually reserved for people who didn’t meddle with the fabric of normality. But now that Hermione had figured out Draco’s problems, reconciled him with his godfather, and successfully _not_ ripped reality apart, life seemed a whole lot easier.

They did have the most bizzare meetings, whenever she, Draco, and Severus got together to chat. Severus was included in most of their planning, nowadays, even if some of it revolved around the Yule Ball and Christmas presents.

“Merlin, Hermione, I’d forgotten how shell-shocked the entire school was when you walked in on Krum’s arm. That was _brilliant._ ” Draco chuckled over his cup of Jasmine tea (he refused to drink Earl Grey).

She smirked. “Oh, it will be again, that’s for sure. I just want to avoid Ron being a total arse about it.”

“What did he say? Oh, I bet he was nasty. He’d always had a crush on you.”

“Oh, something about me associating with the enemy and giving away Harry’s secrets. Total shite, if you ask me. But I can take a little insulting from Ronald Weasley. I’ll be just fine. Now what I’m worried about is Hagrid, the poor man. Do you remember the article that came out about him?”

Snape, who had been looking extremely tired by all this gossip, suddenly leaned forward. “What article?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you about this. A professor named Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank took over for Hagrid after Rita Skeeter outed him as a half-giant.” She said quickly. “But I’ve dealt with Skeeter- or at least, the Heroine of Sussex has.”

“I still can’t believe you used that face again.” Draco sniggered. “I thought you hated it?”

Snape was looking very intrigued at this point.

“It doesn’t matter if I hate it, it was _useful_. It’s the quickest way to conceal my identity, and it’s the only full disguise I ever paired with the _finite_ blocker.” She sniffed. “Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. I’ve dealt with Skeeter and can stop her from writing whatever I want.”

“I would watch your actions with Skeeter.” Severus drawled. “She was a few years below me in Slytherin. The girl was too nosy for her own good, and people learned not to mess with her. She had all the gossip, and could be quite cruel. What did you do to her?”

“Oh, a little bit of blackmail, a little bit of chatting. That’s all. I convinced her to write a bit more… naturally.”

“You destroyed her quill, didn’t you?” Draco grinned. “That’s her most prized possession. But what blackmail do you have on her?”

Hermione had a glint in her eye that neither Slytherin got to see very often. It wasn’t so much of a smile as a leer, and she looked downright dangerous. “She’s an illegal animagus. A beetle. She wouldn’t _dare_ cross me. Last time around, I kept her in an impervious jar for three weeks.”

Draco’s eyes bulged. “You didn’t!” He said, laughing. “Damn, Hermione, you’re a piece of work!”

They chuckled a bit, Hermione remembering the woman’s face when she finally let her out of the jar. But a glance at Severus showed that he wasn’t joining in the festivities. In fact, he looked more worried than anything else. “I would watch your step, Miss Granger.”

Hermione glanced at him oddly. She was starting to associate him using her surname when he disapproved of her actions, a habit she definitely did not like.

“You’re toying with a very powerful woman. She would happily dig you a literary grave and allow the public to bury you in it, blackmail or no blackmail.”

She scowled. “ _I’m_ a very powerful woman. All she’s got is that quill and a job at the _prophet,_ and I’ve already gotten rid of one of them.”

“A job at the prophet has plenty of influence, as you very well know. Don’t trivialize the threat she could make,” he hissed at her.

Hermione gave him a reluctant nod. She saw his point, but she didn’t have to like it. “Very well. I will take more careful steps in future, does that make you happy?”

“What would make me _happy_ ,” Snape’s mouth curled around the word like it was a dead slug he would rather avoid. “Is you time traveling meddlers to stop causing unnecessary stress to our plan, and focus on what’s important. Instead of discussing balls and media outlets, we should be planning our attack of the Horcruxes.”

“He’s got a bit of a point,” Draco said to Hermione, dramatically leaning to the side to exclude Severus. “But he could be less of a dick about it.” She snorted.

“You’re right, of course, Severus.” Hermione said, trying her best to conceal one more eye-roll from the boys. “We do need to talk about the cup. And the ring, for that matter.” She added idly, “we’re waiting until after the ball, though, right?”

Draco shook his head, “if what you told us was true about how the Horcruxes reacted, it might be a better idea to give them a wide berth between destroying them.”

She remembered the bizarre reaction of the two horcruxes when she destroyed them the first time. With a shudder, she imagined destroying the ring, the second-strongest horcrux, along with the cup. What a disaster that could be! She barely destroyed the last two, when they merged together and fought against her. “I think that’s a good idea. Let’s get this damn cup over with. But Draco, you know you can’t help, right? It’s too much of a liability to have someone with the Trace.” Draco was still a minor, technically, without having the benefit of the time turner. As for Hermione, she had a few scant days before becoming a magical adult.

“Hold on a second,” he said, “You and _Severus_ are going, without me?”

Snape scowled. “Neither of you should go.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Hermione said, glaring at Snape. “I wanted to go alone, but _someone_ insisted that he’d be useful.”

“You’re not seventeen yet either, Hermione. It would be much more logical for me to go alone than for you to accompany me, especially since I’m the one who knows where it is, how its protected, and how to destroy it.”

Hermione groaned. “This is ridiculous. I’m coming with you! I’ll be seventeen in three days, and who is the one who destroyed all the other horcruxes?”

“Fine,” Snape spat.

“Fine,” Hermione said, much more mildly.

“Not fine! I want to go too!” Whined Draco.

As one, Severus and Hermione replied, “No!”

Draco leaned back in his chair, looking for all the world like he was sulking. “Fine,” he threw his arms in the air, exasperated. “Fine, I won’t come to retrieve the horcrux. But I _do_ want to be there when we destroy it.”

“That can be arranged,” Snape said, giving Hermione a look. She nodded in agreement, holding Severus’s gaze.

For a brief second, Hermione felt the kind of kinship that Fred and George might feel, meeting Severus’s eyes with the same exact thought running through their brains: they were _not_ bringing the horcrux back to Hogwarts, no matter how much Draco wanted to be included.

The meeting ended quickly after that, no one really wanting to sit down and talk after that sort of argument. But she and Severus did settle on a time to meet on the twenty-fourth: the day before the ball, and Hermione’s seventeenth “birthday.”

* * *

Hermione stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, casting yet another warming charm to combat the freezing weather. It was midnight, and Severus was meant to arrive any second.

“What took you so long?” She said, shivering, as he finally appeared from behind a tree trunk.

Severus rolled his eyes. “As head of house, I am… occasionally tasked with assisting the Slytherin students, several of which were having issues this evening.”

She took a good look at him, noticing a (slowly freezing) wet patch on his shoulder. “Let me guess, some girl was crying about not getting the date she wanted for the Yule Ball?”

“Quite the opposite, actually.” Snape said drily. “She invited her long-distance beau, and despite being told multiple times that he wasn’t allowed to attend the ball, she just received his owl telling her he was expelled by the wards.”

Hermione chuckled. “Must’ve been a lot of drama, then.” She wondered if this had happened last time, and she just hadn’t heard of it because Slytherin kept it quiet. Either way, it was amusing to imagine a girl crying on Severus’s shoulder. There was something just _wrong_ about it.

“Well, lets get on with this.” She took out her time turner and awkwardly draped it around both her and Snape’s neck. Unlike with Harry, who was a comfortable 5’1 at this age, Severus was a very tall man, and he had to crouch to stay within range.

Quickly, Hermione spun the dial back four hours: eight o’clock. The world around them spun, and she felt Severus tense next to her. She barely noticed the jarring actions Fang and Hagrid moving backwards, an arrow flying back into a centaur’s bow twenty feet away, and the sun slowly inching up the horizon to the west. It was second nature to her now.

And with a thought, they landed in the past. Severus looked like he was trying not to fall over from dizziness. “You do this every day?” He said incredulously.

“Sometimes twice,” she grinned. “Pleasant, isn’t it?” Without waiting for him, she brought out a dead rabbit from underneath her cloak, and laid it on the ground in front of them. “ _Diffindo_!” She cried, and the rabbit was split in half. Blood started oozing out of it, and she looked away in disgust.

But soon enough, she heard the soft crunch of hooves on snow, and turned back to see two thestrals, attracted by the rabbit’s blood. It was only the second time she had seen them, she realized, and never so close. They were pretty odd looking creatures, all skin and bone.

“Let them eat,” Severus said quietly, “then we’ll go.”

She nodded, and they stood as the thestrals chose half a bunny each. It was quite gross, to be honest, but she knew the horses themselves were just trying to eat. Plus, thestrals were one of the best steeds for staying discreet: most people they passed wouldn’t be able to see them, decreasing their chances of being seen.

“Hey boy,” she said, letting the ghostly creature nuzzle her hand. “Can you take me to Hexayard Cemetery in London?”

The beast gave an eerie whinny and crouched to let her mount it. Next to her, Severus was already sitting comfortably on his thestral. “Well, that’s it then,” Hermione said. “We should-“ but the thestrals were starting to trot onward, cutting her off. She held onto their thin hair, as they started speeding up. Faster and faster they went, across the grounds. And before she really realized it, they were airborne.

“Disillusionment charms!” She yelled to Severus. He nodded, waved his wand, and slowly disappeared from view. Too unsteady on her thestrals to pull out her own wand, she cast it wandlessly.

For a while, all Hermione could hear was whistling wind and the occasional neighing of the thestrals. They were passing over mountains draped in fog, beautiful valleys lit by the setting sun, and puffs of smoke from the villages they passed.

Finally, the mountains turned to hills, and the hills turned to houses. They were almost there. It was actually kind of peaceful, if she thought about it, flying over the tiny houses and streets. Cars drove down the winding roads, twisting about as they passed one another. From up here, it was too far to hear the honking of angry drivers, the bustle of pedestrians. It looked peaceful. For one forlorn moment she wished she was living a life as peaceful and simple as those on the ground.

But no, she would be bored out of her mind. And this needed to be done, she knew that. She would never be able to sit back and let the world burn around her. It wasn’t in her nature.

Severus’s voice, much closer than she thought, startled her from her musing. “We will be descending soon.” He said.

“Shite Severus, you startled me!” She almost jumped off her thestral. “A little warning next time!”

“Lets get going.” Was all he said in reply.

And as if on cue, the thestrals started diving. Their wings spread majestically, catching the wind as they descended. With a good _thump_ , Hermione’s thestral hit the ground running, on a small street. It didn’t look like London, maybe a suburb. There were little houses lining the road, all looking rather drab and identical. It reminded her a bit of Little Whinging, if she was honest.

The thestrals brought them to the end of the street, which was seemingly bordered by a football field. As they trotted forward, however, Hermione saw the goal posts and white lines blur and disappear, replaced by a large iron gate.

The thestrals slowed to a stop at the gate, neighing and pawing the ground with their hooves. “Will you wait for us?” Hermione asked her thestral, which she had decided was a male. He whinnied and shook his head up and down, which she took as a yes. They were smart creatures, thestrals. And benevolent, despite the stigma around them.

“Let’s get this over with.” Snape said briskly and held up his wand to cast _Alohamora_ at the locked gate.

 

 

 


	40. Chapter 39 - Cursebreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione uses some advanced skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, this is a pretty intense chapter. Hermione gets hurt and there's a bit of a graphic description.

Hermione put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Ooh, wait, can I do it?” He looked at her quizzically. “It’s the first spell I get to cast outside of school,” she said by way of an explanation.

He gestured her forward, and she could’ve sworn he rolled his eyes. Choosing to ignore this typical Snape-ism, she waved her wand to unlock the gate. _“Alohamora!”_ She said softly.

The gate was one big, solid door, and as she cast, swirling lines appeared in the door. The cracks separated, and quickly the door split into two halves. “Merlin,” she whispered. The two doors were like reverse mirrors of each other. “Now that’s some wicked magic,” Hermione grinned. Snape, unsurprisingly, looked unenthusiastic. Hermione decided to believe that was because he had seen it before, and not because she was easy to impress.

They strode forward, past a dozen or more rows of wizarding headstones. “Hold on,” said Severus suddenly, throwing an arm out to stop her. “Move carefully. There may be traps set.”

“If I know anything about Voldemort, there are definitely traps set,” Hermione said grimly. Snape hissed as she said the name.

“Do not say his name!”

“Sorry, Severus.” She said glibly, but he whirled on her, anger in his eyes.

“the stakes are much higher here than in Hogwarts, Hermione. There will be traps, especially for those who speak of the Dark Lord.” He said in a whisper.

But that seemed to be all the traps needed – the words Dark Lord, or maybe the combination of Dark Lord and Voldemort – for something was emerging from the ground.

“Watch out!” She yelled, jumping out of the way of a vine-like object protruding from the ground. “Shite, it’s Devil’s Snare!”

Snape dodged a particularly long vine, casting _incendio_ with grim determination. “We’ll have to get past the Snare if we wish to approach the tombstone!” He said loudly.

“No Shit, Severus!” She yelled back. “ _Incendio!”_

But it was as ineffective as it would’ve been if they had been throwing water at it; the vines kept coming, writing like the brains from the Department of Mysteries and attempting to get a hold on them. The _incendio_ ’s didn’t seem to be doing anything at all, really. It was as if they had been enchanted to withstand the blasts of flame, or bred for it.

The next _incendio_ Snape cast, Hermione realized that it wasn’t recoiling from damage. No, the vines actually _multiplied_ every time they tried to burn them. “Snape, stop!” she yelled, a realization hitting her. “Stop. It’s not Devil’s Snare!”

He turned back to look at her, narrowly avoiding yet another vine. “Then what is it?”

“A Camodian Strangler! It thrives in warm, damp climates. We’re _feeding_ it! You have to freeze it!”

Without another word, Snape turned back to fight, “ _Glacius!”_ He yelled, hitting one of the larger vines.

She joined him, and together they made quick work of the remaining vines. “Great.” Hermione panted with exertion. “Well, now we know, no V-word. Let’s just get this bloody thing.”

She was about to step forward, but thought better of it at the last second. “ _Revelio_!” She cast instead, scanning the area for traps. Seeing nothing, she crept forward. “Do you see which one it is?” She whispered to Severus.

“It’s halfway down the row. Let’s go.” He strode past her briskly. “That must’ve been spelled to react anywhere within the graveyard.” They hurried along, passing many unfamiliar names, until finally Snape stopped. “This is it.” He said. “This is the right one.”

“But it doesn’t have a name on it,” Hermione said. “How do you know?”

“I remember it. And I can remove all the defenses I placed on it – all except one, which has a permanent disfiguring charm for anyone who tries to dig into the ground.”

“What’s the charm? Do you know the counter-curse?”

“I never made one.” Severus said grimly. “I created this to stop anyone besides the keyed individuals from getting into my trunk during seventh year. It mottled Mulciber’s arm when he touched it, then he burned it as revenge. I’ve never had a need to remove the charm.”

“Can’t we burn this spell too?” She toyed with the idea of fiendfyre – it would make it easier, just destroy the whole damn cematary if they had to.

“Doubtful,” Severus seemed to read her mind. “Dark magic would likely make some of the other defenses react.”

Hermione _hmm_ ’d. “Then the best thing we can do is dismantle the spells themselves.”

“I will be able to dismantle the rest of my protections, and together I believe we will be able to dismantle the dar- his protections without tripping anything else.” He checked his watch. “However, we only have an hour and a half before we need to rejoin the thestrals. Otherwise, we won’t be able to replace our former selves on the grounds.”

“Oh, that’s not a problem. I’ve run out the clock before, and all it takes is another turn back for an hour. Then we’d have to run around and replace ourselves every which way, but at least it’d be fine in the end.”

Severus looked at her like she was insane. “Just how often do you break the laws of time?”

“Well, time turners are only supposed to go back five hours total, so I suppose almost every day.” She grinned at him, and he rolled his eyes before turning away to dismantle his wards.

He worked efficiently, sweat forming on his brow as he muttered counter-curses, breaking spell after spell; Hermione peered at the web of magic around the headstone, using that special concentration one always used to see spells – she’d heard it called Mage Sight, before. The whole net was a piece of work: layers upon layers of spells. Even as Snape dismantled some, more appeared underneath. Finally, she started to see them thin out, and only a few layers remained.

“I have done all I can,” Snape said, standing up straight but looking quite exhausted.

Hermione nodded and stepped up, giving him a bit of time to relax. She recognized one of the curses on the headstone – a slashing curse – and started picking at it. Much like she had with Rita Skeeter’s Quick Quotes Quill, she was able to manipulate the strands of magic like they were strings on a piano, strung exactly the right way to make a sound. All she had to do was make sure the “sound,” or the spell’s effect, didn’t hit her or Snape. It didn’t matter what the rest of the curse looked like after that, for there would be no reaction. 

She made quick work of the slashing curse, but the next one was giving her trouble.

“I have never seen someone break curses in this manner before,” Snape said softly. “It makes sense that you would have trouble with this one. It works very differently from the slashing curse.” Snape did something Hermione couldn’t quite catch, and the spell collapsed, like a marionette cut from its strings.

“Brilliant,” Hermione said. Together, they’d be able to get this thing done, once and for all.

It was hard work, and she couldn’t tell how much time had passed. It could’ve easily been a minute or an hour, and she would be none the wiser. Finally, they were left with just the disfiguring hex, still stuck to the ground.

“Where exactly is the cup hidden?” She asked. “Do we have to dig?”

Severus looked a bit disgruntled at the question. “I am not certain.”

“How do you not know where it is? Didn’t you place it here?”

“If I know him at all, and I have the misfortune to know him quite intimately, he wouldn’t have left it where I put it.” Snape said stiffly. “I placed it just underneath the headstone.”

She groaned. “How does this disfiguring charm work? Shouldn’t you be keyed into it as well?”

“No, I am not. I used a lock of hair to key it to him, not myself.”

“How fast acting is it?”

“You’re not suggesting we try to remove the horcrux by moving faster than the spell?” He looked incredulous. “It’ll never work.”

“Well a little disfigurement is worth it, if we can make it out without any actual damage.”

“While it is… cosmetic, it will be very painful. I suggest we attempt to dismantle this spell like we did the others. Perhaps our combined efforts will be enough.”

Hermione nodded, and they looked back at the spell. It was a nasty piece of work, that was for sure, winding around like some sort of localized obscurus. She couldn’t see any gaps to target, no weak points in the weave of the spell. It was completely different than any other hex she had seen, including the strange block-like one that Severus dismantled.

“I have an idea.” She said suddenly, and Severus turned to look at her. “But you’re not going to think it’s a good one.”

“What is it?”

“I can pull it.” She said resolutely. Pulling a spell was similar to cursebreaking, but was used much more often with charms and illusions than hexes. They had one big drawback when it came to offensive magic: to pull a spell, it had to go somewhere. Usually, with a color changing charm or an illusion, the puller would take the spell onto themselves before dispersing it or depositing it on another object. But if Hermione were to pull _this_ spell, it would mean taking on the effects – if only for a few seconds.

“Absolutely not.” Snape said, like Hermione knew he would.

“It’s the only way, Severus. You know it is.”

“Then I shall do it. You are still my student, and so still under my protection. I will not see you hurt on my watch.” He held his wand up, almost as if he were ready to use force to stop her.

She frowned at him. “You know it’s been a long time since I was really a student, no matter how I look. I’m an adult, and I’m just as invested as you are in this. And I’m really quite sorry, Severus, but, _pertificus totalus!_ ” She said suddenly, taking him by surprise.

He had almost hit the floor before she cast a spell that straightened him up again. With the limited motion of someone hit with the petrification charm, Severus could only glare as she turned away to pull the spell.

She grit her teeth, preparing herself for what she knew would be an absolutely terrible experience.

And once she saw the whole scope of the spell – an annoyingly impressive six square feet – she was ready to pull it. Using her wand like a blind man’s walking stick, she reached for the edges of the spell. It was spread like a blanket over the area, poised to react if anyone did more than step on it. And when she had a good feel for all the edges, she started slowly, slowly pulling upwards.

In that special way of looking at magic, she could see the dark spell curling up, looking like a huge unfriendly balloon. Hermione’s knuckles were white around her wand, desperately trying to control the spell as it fought her control. She dug her heels into the ground and brought her left hand up to her wand, straining to contain the spell. And at long last, it became smaller and smaller, gathering at the tip of her wand like a funnel cloud.

She let out a yell, and used her wand to whip the cloud away from the ground. It tore against the flesh of her stomach, and her yell turned into a scream of unadulterated pain. It burned, a white-hot agony that made her see stars – and with one last ditch effort, she swiped her wand to the left, flinging the curse away from her and into a nearby headstone.

Hermione clutched her stomach, gasping for breath. It must’ve been very late at night, for she could only see vague outlines of the graveyard in front of her. She lowered her wand, taking very deep breaths in an attempt to stay upright. But darkness crept over her vision, covering the graveyard in a nice, blank sheet of black.

Hermione opened her eyes slightly. “Miss Granger,” she heard, very distantly. A figure was above her, a fuzzy tan something. It looked like a teddy bear she had as a kid, and she had half a mind to reach for it. But her arms were quite heavy, so she just shut her eyes again.

“Hermione!” She heard again, louder this time. Was someone looking for her? She took a deep breath, and suddenly she could feel her head again. It was quite fuzzy, like someone had put her under an _imperius._ She suddenly felt very light, and wanted very much to return to the nice nothingness she had experienced a few seconds ago.

“Merlin, please let her wake up soon,” she heard in that same distant tone. “Hermione. It’s time to go, wake up!”

She opened her eyes once more, and this time the fuzzy something came into focus. It wasn’t her childhood teddy bear at all.

“Severus?” She croaked. Her brain was starting to feel less floaty and a lot more like someone had dropped a few dozen bricks on it.

“Yes, you insufferable witch. You’ve been unconscious for a half hour, and you almost killed yourself tonight.”

“Oh, is that why I can’t move?” She said mildly, still too woozy to care overly much about what he was saying. “We should probably go, Severus.”

He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, but he was holding something quite shiny and gold. The cup! She recognized it far too well, for she had been the one to destroy it the last time. And at that thought, a lot of other pesky thoughts came to her. For one, she was in the middle of a London Cemetary with her Potions Professor. Two, the ground was quite uncomfortable, and she couldn’t feel anything below her shoulders.

“Did you use a numbing charm on me?” She said incredulously, a bit surprised at Snape’s thoughtfulness.

“I did.” He said shortly.

She sensed, more than felt, him move towards her, and suddenly she was lifted into the air. “Stop it, Snape, I can walk just fine!” She said, irritated.

He snorted. “You’ll forgive me if I disagree, Miss Granger. You are showing several signs of neurogenic shock.”

“Bloody let me down. I’ve had worse.”

He heaved a great sigh, but acquiesced. “Very well.”

Suddenly, feeling returned to the rest of her body, and Hermione almost doubled over in pain. “Shite,” she said, “what the fuck did you put in that curse, Snape?”

“It wasn’t meant to reward intruders,” he said, and put out an arm for her to grab. “Will you be able to ride a thestral on your own?”

Hermione was in a very severe amount of pain, more than this body had ever been subjected to. She wasn’t even sure she could walk more than five steps, much less balance on a skeletal horse in midair without falling to her death. “Oh, absolutely.”

He looked at her with a skeptical look she surely would have responded to, if she were feeling a bit better. But he didn’t say anything, and they walked out past the gate without much trouble.

“Hi boy,” she said as her thestral trotted up to her. “Think you can help me get back to Hogwarts?”

He neighed in response. She wasn’t sure if that was a yes or no, but slowly heaved herself onto his back. It was going to be a long, long ride.

 


	41. Chapter 40 - Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione deals with the consequences of her actions.

They rode back in silence, Hermione’s thestral doing an excellent job of keeping her from falling to her death. She had summoned one of her pepper-up potions, which was probably the only thing keeping her going at this point. Snape’s thestral was very close to her, if the occasional huffs of breath were any indicator. She got the impression he was worried about her.

She may have even drifted off at one point, although how she wasn’t sure (trying to ride a flying creature wasn’t the most comfortable thing when one felt perfectly fine) but she managed to make it back in one piece, and that was what mattered.

“We only have about five minutes left,” said Severus, raising his voice over the wind. “Are you capable of landing safely?”

Hermione giggled to herself, and in the back of her mind realized that it was a very bizarre thing to do. She couldn’t help it. Severus Snape asking her – in his own way – if she was alright, well that was a new one. “I’ll be fine,” she answered, almost as an afterthought. She giggled again when she imagined that Severus would be pursing his lips like he did when someone got a particularly simple question wrong.

Her manic giggling turned into a groan of pain, as she realized they were descending. She tried to stay upright, but every time she moved her stomach, another white hot flash of agony would hit her. Beads of sweat formed on her brow, and her eyes were furrowed in concentration. They landed without any incident, thankfully, and Hermione waved off the disillusionment charm from her and her thestral. She was plastered to it’s back, and was having a great deal of trouble convincing herself to move.

Before she could get up the energy to move on her own, she felt herself being lifted once more off the ground. “Severus, c’mon. I’ve got this,” she slurred. The thestral licked the sweat off of her brow interestedly. She lifted a hand to swipe it away, but gave up and let it lick her.

“Seeing as I’ve waited three minutes already for you to do more than stir, I doubt that immensely.” He pursed his lips, looking just like she thought he would. Despite her better judgement, she giggled.  Bizarre.

She didn’t get a response. She must look very silly, she realized, giggling to herself while Professor Snape held her practical dead weight. She hissed out in pain every time he moved, and was honestly quite glad she didn’t have to move on her own. She didn’t want to know what her torso looked like, for it was bound to be ugly.

“We need t’replace our old selves,” Hermione muttered. “Dunno if I can turn back ‘ny time soon.” Her head was spinning, and the world was starting to fade again.

“We already have.” He kept walking. “They disappeared a few minutes ago, I waited behind the trees until they left.”

Hermione processed that somewhere in the back of her mind, and gave a nod of appreciation. She wondered what Snape would say if someone were to run into them – something highly derogatory of her, she was certain – but couldn’t bring herself to care too much. When she could focus on more than the pain she was feeling, she would deal with the rest of the world.

And to her surprise, they arrived at Snape’s quarters. “Not Gryffindor tower?” She asked. “Why?”

“Do you think I would send you back to your dormitory without examining the options for healing you? I thought you were intelligent, Miss Granger.”

She knew there was an insult in there, somewhere. But it didn’t really matter, and then she was being set down.

“Oh Merlin!” She heard from across the room. “Bloody hell Severus, what happened to her?”

It was Draco, who had apparently decided to wait here for their return. He blocked out the light above her, and she opened her eyes slightly to see him. “’lo, Draco,” she gave him a very weak grin. “We got it.”

“Never mind the horcrux, what’s wrong with you?”

Hermione lifted her sweater up past her stomach, revealing a nasty, mottled patch of skin. “Salazar,” she heard above her. The voice didn’t come from Draco, like she thought it would, but Severus. “What did I do to you?” He whispered.

“ _You_ did this to her?” Draco’s voice returned. “Godfather, if you did this, I shall have to disown you. She’s… she’s… scarred for life!”

“It was my curse, yes,” he said evenly.

Draco exploded with sound, making Hermione wince at the volume. “What the hell, Severus?”

“I set this curse when I placed the horcrux, many years ago,” Snape continued, sounding a bit defensive. “She decided to pull the curse so we could get to the cup.”

And suddenly, Draco was whirling on her instead. “What the hell, Hermione? Why would you do that?”

Hermione felt a pang of annoyance, and with more energy than she had felt in hours, quipped back, “It was th’best course of action, Draco, stop it. And pass a healing potion.”

Draco turned to Severus. “What sort of healing potion works on this? It feels a bit like _sectumsempera,”_ he said. Severus must’ve looked quite surprised, for he continued, “Oh, yes, we know about that one too. Potter got your potions textbook in sixth year and cast it on _me,_ so I know just about how Hermione is feeling now.”

“It’s worse than that.” Snape replied. “ _Sectumsempera_ will put you out of your misery. The _pelincidus_ curse will boil the skin and keep you burning. It won’t kill her.” She heard shuffling, and the room suddenly became a lot lighter. Eyes closed, all she could see was the red of her eyelids. A bit more shuffling, and the darkness returned. “Drink this,” he said, and a small vial nudged at her hand. She grabbed it and uncorked the top.

“I cannot heal the damage that had already happened,” Severus said, voice low and incredibly calm. “But this will stop the curse from continuing to spread.”

“But I thought I pulled it?” Hermione said.

“Drink. We will discuss it afterwards.” She downed the potion.

Immediately, a wave of warmth overcame her, sinking into her skin and wiping away all the pain of the curse. “Shit.” She said eloquently. “Thanks, Severus, that’s much better.”

“Imaginably.” He replied. “While you did pull the curse, it is designed to affect the invader even after contact. If I was unable to treat you, the burn would likely have spread much farther than your torso.”

“As it is,” Draco added, “I hope we can reverse this. It’s nasty, Hermione, I won’t lie to you.”

“I’ve never been beautiful, Draco. It’s a small price to pay for the horcrux. Plus, Severus said it was all cosmetic. I’ll still be able to function, and that’s all that maters.” She said resolutely. She meant it, too.

A silence followed her words, and she looked from Slytherin to Slytherin questioningly. Draco turned to Severus, looking equally confused. “Hermione,” said Severus slowly. “It isn’t completely cosmetic.”

“What do you mean?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “There is a high chance that, due to where the curse landed, you may be unable to reproduce.”

Draco gasped. “No, that’s not right! We can fix it, it can’t have gone that deep. We’ll get Poppy – it’s about time we brought her up to speed, anyway – we’ll fix it!”

“It’s alright, Draco.” Hermione said quietly.

“It’s not _alright_ , Hermione. How could this be _alright?”_

“It’s alright. Like I said, it’s a small price to pay for defeating Voldemort.” She didn’t expect to truly live that long, anyway. Just long enough to kill that bastard, then… “I don’t think I want children, anyway.” That was a lie. She had thought about it, when she had dated Ron for the briefest period in the future. Not anytime soon, no, but maybe one day- well, that was a pipe dream, now.

“Hermione,” Draco said pityingly. He knew her better than anyone, and she knew he could see through her falsity. “Hermione, we can-“

“Drop it, Draco. I don’t want to talk about it.” She said icily. She felt much better, physically, but there was a gnawing pit in her stomach. “We don’t even know if it’s one hundred percent impossible, yet. And if it is, I don’t want to speak of it.”

“Miss Granger…” said Snape lowly.

“You stay quiet, too,” Hermione snapped. “We’ve all made sacrifices. This is no different.” She turned her face away. Although the pain from the curse was more like someone poking her side than someone continuously stabbing her with knives, she had a pain of a different sort.

She had never given much thought to children, since returning to the past. In the three months of victory, the interwar peace, she had thought about it. But after all they had suffered at the hands of Voldemort’s third rise, it would’ve been a miracle if she had been able to have kids then either. Nothing had changed, really. She wasn’t a Lavender Brown, who wished for her entire life to have a big family with twenty kids and a doting husband. So why did it make her heart sink?

It was just another dream that Voldemort had taken from her. That was all. And the sooner he was dead, the sooner she could find some semblance of peace.

“We need to destroy the cup,” she said suddenly. “Let’s do it tonight, we’ll get this over with.” She reached for her time turner, ready to make a few turns. But it wasn’t there. She started looking around, searching desperately for the necklace.

“It fell off as I was carrying you.” Severus brought the necklace forward. It was warm to the touch, and she accepted it back gratefully. “And there’s no need to travel back to destroy it.”

“Why is that?” Asked Hermione.

Draco responded instead, “He destroyed it already.”

“Oh.” She sagged back into her armchair. “That’s good, then.”

“Come on, Hermione. You’ve done enough. Let’s get you to bed.” Said Draco, pulling her upright. “I’ll walk you to Gryffindor.”

Hermione followed him blankly, still absorbed in her own thoughts. Draco filled the silence, chattering about inconsequential things. He seemed to realize he wouldn’t get an answer from her, though, so she didn’t bother trying to muster up the concentration to reply.

“We’re halfway through the year already,” he was saying. “Can you believe the Yule Ball is tomorrow? I certainly can’t. And I’m taking Astoria, this time. She was quite pleased, you know, since she wouldn’t be able to attend without a partner. But Pansy feels quite shunned, if you believe that. She’s been sour all week, since she found out I wasn’t just trying to ask her fashionably late.”

Hermione nodded vaguely, and let him lead her through the winding passages up to the tower. “You should have some fun with Krum. I know you like him enough, and he’s a gentleman; give yourself a night off, ok?”

They reached the tower finally, and Hermione turned to give him a hug goodbye. “Thank you, Draco.” She whispered.

“It’s nothing,” he said flippantly.

“No, really,” She hugged him tighter, and he returned it, comfortingly warm around her shoulders. “I really appreciate you. I was so alone, before you came back. And I kept just making mistake after mistake, and I don’t think you realize how much I love you.”

Draco stiffened in her arms. “Hermione… you know that ship sailed long ago. We’re not meant for that.” 

“Oh you dolt,” she laughed slightly. “I love you like a brother. Like a best friend.”

“Then I suppose I love you too, Hermione.” He said, slightly stilted. He had never been good at expressing his feelings, not that she was particularly amazing at it either. “But it’s time to go, alright? I shudder to think what the Hogwarts rumor mill would think of us hugging at two in the morning.”

That got a genuine laugh out of her, and she unwound herself from his arms reluctantly. “Maybe after all this is over, we can mess with the rest of the school.”

“It’s a date,” Draco said, and laughed with her. “Goodnight, Hermione.”


	42. Chapter 41 - The Yule Ball (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione attends the Yule Ball with Victor Krum, and thinks about a lot of things.

Hermione slept far later on December 25th than she had in many years. Her Christmas mornings in this time were nearly always cheerful affairs, with her small family spending time together in Rouen or in Britain. After the Ministry fell, Hermione barely noticed Christmas pass. There was always too much to do, and too little to share with one another. But this year was a different beast entirely.

A feeling of nervousness had overcome her last time, and she distinctly remembered being wrapped up in the ifs, ands, and buts of going to the ball with Victor. This time, she knew it would go splendidly – that is, if she could keep Ron from blowing up. Time had flown, something that didn’t seem possible with a time turner in hand, and she had neglected to help Ron and Harry with their dates, leaving them with the Patil twins. It was a shame, really. Pavarti had gushed to Lavender about getting to dance with _Harry Potter_ in front of the whole hall. She knew Padma wasn’t quite so pleased, but the girl was bookish and somewhat shy, and would’ve gone alone if Pavarti hadn’t sorted out a date for her.

Hermione determined the best course of action today was to help Harry and Ron from making giant fools of themselves. She didn’t much feel like playing lecturer, though. The events of the previous night lay heavy on her mind, and she was certain she would end up moping around in bed until the ball.

She pulled open the curtains, finally, at around noon. “Happy Christmas, Hermione!” said Lavender cheerily.

“Happy Christmas, Lav,” Hermione mumbled back. She hadn’t told them anything about the ball, this time around. Last timeline, Christmas eve was as close to a giant slumber party that the girls of Gryffindor had ever seen. They ate candy, gossiped, and chattered with one another. Hermione had even told a few of them she had an exciting date, although Ginny had been the only one who knew his identity.

“Oh good, you’re awake!” Pavarti said, smiling widely at Hermione. “We were so worried you wouldn’t wake in time to get ready with us!”

Privately, Hermione wanted to mention that it was noon, and the ball didn’t start until six o’clock. But even she had taken about three hours to prepare last time, and looking good never _hurt._ She sighed inwardly. She hadn’t yet looked at her torso to see the damage, which she knew would be an ever-present reminder of her pending infertility.

“I’ve got some things to do, first, but I’ll be back in an hour to get ready with you,” Hermione assured.

They giggled excitedly. “Oh, I can’t wait to show you my dress, Hermione!”

“And to see yours,” Pavarti continued. “We’ve no idea what it looks like, go on, show us!”

Hermione smiled obligingly. “In an hour, when I’m back. And I know you’ll both look marvelous.”

They said cheery goodbyes to her, and she was only too happy to escape. Being around so much excitement did nothing to cheer her up, even on Christmas. She reminded herself to open her presents later, for her parents gave her a sapphire necklace to match her dress robes.

She walked down to the common room, looking out for the boys. She hoped they would take her mind off her thoughts.

The boys were all trooping in after what looked like rolling around in the snow – Hermione thought it was more likely that they had a snowball fight, but they looked equally ragged and snow-soaked. “Happy Christmas, Hermione!” Harry said cheerfully.

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” she gave him a very tentative hug, trying to avoid becoming soaked, herself. “And you too, Ron,” she said, repeating the gesture. “Hey, I have something to show you guys.”

Ron groaned. “Hermione, please tell me you’re not asking us to look at _homework_ , are you? It’s Christmas!”

She pursed her lips. “Just because we’re on holiday, doesn’t mean we can’t think about our academic careers, Ron. But no, it’s not related to school. I actually think it will help both of you this evening.”

They shared a look that implied they highly doubted Hermione’s ability to help them but didn’t seem ready to outright rebel. “Alright, I’m going to teach you two how to make the Patil twins very happy,” she said cheerfully.

“Wha?” Ron asked dumbly. “Why do we need to make them happy?”

Hermione sighed. This was going to take a long time.

* * *

“And that’s what a girl expects from her date at a ball,” she finished. Both Harry and Ron were looking at her, dumbfounded.

“No one can do all that at once!” Ron exclaimed. “What the bloody hell are we supposed to do, grow four more arms?”

Hermione shook her head sadly. “That is what a _gentleman_ does at the ball. Honestly, boys, half of what I told you is just general advice – being considerate to the people around you! And Ron, it’s doubly important for you to pay attention to Padma, since you didn’t even ask her on your own.” Ron looked outraged at this, for some reason.

“Listen, Ron, and you too Harry. You’re going to attend this school with both of these girls for three more years. That’s a long time to have someone be angry with you for treating them badly at a ball. Plus, you might even find it fun if you do go for a dance. It’s not all waltzing and counting your steps – they’ll have the Weird Sisters there!”

“Dances weren’t made for having _fun_ , Mione.” Harry said, on the edge of joking and seriousness. “They were made to torture poor blokes like me.”

She gave him a fondly exasperated look, trying to keep from rolling her eyes for the fortieth time that day. “Oh Harry, even you could have fun at a dance.”

Ron and Harry shared another look that told her they doubted it. “Hermione,” said Ron tentatively. “Who-“

“I’m not telling you who I’m going with.” She snapped. “You’ll learn tonight, like everyone else.” This was something she was unwilling to bend on, mostly because she didn’t know the ramifications it would have if everyone knew she and Victor were going to the ball. And something told her that Ron wouldn’t be able to keep it quiet if he did know who she was going with. “I’m going to get ready. I’ll see you both later tonight.”

They mumbled goodbyes, looking very nervous, and Hermione took her chance to escape. How did she become responsible for teaching fourteen-year-old boys to be good dates?

Ah yes, it was probably when she decided to meddle with time and change the course of the entire world. For the first time, she realized the gravity of her position. Sure, Draco and Severus were helping her, but she held the most keys to the future. And that meant she held the most responsibility. If something were to go wrong – even something outside of her power – well she would be responsible for that, wouldn’t she?

She had decided to become the puppeteer, the manipulator of fate, and the keeper of the keys to the future. It wasn’t all balls and teaching fourteen-year-olds how to act at a dance, either. It was, well, everything. Everything that happened was at the result of her action or inaction. And if she failed, well that was her own fault too. She and Draco would never be able to replicate the time distortion they did at the veil, almost two years ago now. It was now or never.

But at the same time, she would have to act normally too. If the wrong person realized that Hermione Granger wasn’t what she seemed, like Severus had, she was well and truly screwed. So she had no options besides doing everything to the best of her ability. No more rashness, no more jumping into things.

Her ability to have children was a small price to pay, after all. If they could destroy Voldemort, an entire generation of children would be born, and they would live in peace.

It was with this mindset that Hermione prepared for the ball, smiling and laughing with her dorm mates and playing the part perfectly. She elegantly stepped into the bathroom to put her dress on, telling Lavender and Pavarti that she wanted it to be a surprise.

They didn’t even recognize the girl who came out, just as they had been wowed by her the last time. But maybe it was her mastery of beauty spells at their behest, or maybe it was the look in her eyes. She was   _stunning_. She tried not to take pride in the fact that she was prettier than Lavender, more put-together than Pavarti. She did have the benefit of age on them. The fourteen-year-old girls were very pretty, but Hermione was an adult. She had all the right curves in all the right places, and a dress that showed them off far more than the bulky Hogwarts robes.

She really doubted that even Harry would recognize her, honestly. The thought made her smirk, and she stalked down to the entrance hall (to meet Victor) with a predatory sort of grace. She was a warrior; she was going to save the future, or die trying. A ball wasn’t worth a second thought.

Or so she told herself, as she waited impatiently for Victor in the entrance hall. He wouldn’t stand her up this time, would he?

A few Durmstrang boys passed, wearing very traditional German dress robes, and she smiled at them. To her surprise, one of them wolf-whistled at her. Another winked.

She put her arms around herself, self-conscious. _Damn it, Hermione_ , she thought to herself. _What happened to ‘I’m a warrior?’ Get yourself together._

“Hermy-ony,” she heard behind her, and whipped around. “You are beautivul.”

She grinned, recognizing Victor as he approached. “Victor,” she gave a little curtsy. “And you are quite handsome.”

He bowed back to her, and held out a hand for her to take. “You vill steal the ball, Hermy-own. I am a lucky man.” She blushed despite herself.

“Oh Victor, you flatter me.” She said lightheartedly. “I’m the lucky one, you know.”

They struck up a conversation, talking about the castle, their previous Christmas holidays, and their classes. Victor seemed to stay away from anything too serious, which she was grateful for. She wasn’t sure she would have an answer if he asked what she wanted to do after graduation.

They were still the only couple in this corner of the entrance hall, and Hermione cast a subtle privacy ward to keep the rest of the hall from paying attention to them.

Victor raised his eyebrows, impressed. “You are very advanced, Hermy-one,” he commented. “At Durmstrang, ve are not taught silent casting until ve are sixteen. And vandless, some students never achieve dat.”

Hermione blushed for real this time. She felt so comfortable around Victor that she hadn’t even realized she cast wandlessly (although, considering that her wand was in a thigh holster, it wasn’t really a surprise. She didn’t fancy hiking up her dress to reach her wand, but habit kept her from leaving it behind.)

“Again, you flatter me, Victor. I’m old for my year, you know. And I spend all my time studying.” She deflected.

To her displeasure, he continued earnestly. “Vut that is more dan studying, Hermy-one. Dat is genuine skill. Your parents must have taught you vell.”

She shifted uncomfortably. She supposed her parents hadn’t really come up in their discussions during the last time, not even in their letters to one another. She had learned a long time ago to not talk about them in general, because it brought more questions than she liked.

At the same time, she got why Victor would think her parents were involved. It was common knowledge outside of Britain that training your kids at a young age would allow them to have a much more natural grasp over their magic. It was still illegal in most places, however. A dependency on wand magic made for a much less dangerous population, after all. But most purebloods still taught their kids under the radar.

It was like learning a language, really. After the age of twelve, kids lost that innate ability to just pick up languages, and instead had to do it the slow way: years and years of study, careful practice, and still never really getting it. Magic was amazingly similar. Starting at eleven was probably the latest they could start without starting to stunt children’s magical growth. It was still possible to cast wandlessly, but it took the same effort as an adult learning a new language: hours and hours of work.

“Erm, yes, my parents always motivated me to be dedicated to my schooling,” she said, dodging the question.

He nodded, seeming to find this an acceptable answer. “Mine vere, too.” He confided. “Alveys telling me to do more, vork harder. I do not think they wanted me to be a Qviddich player, although. They vere hoping for a Staatsovenar – Auror, I sink you call them.”

“Fascinating,” Hermione said honestly. “They aren’t proud of you for becoming a seeker so young?”

He shook his head. “No they thought it vas a bad idea, but dat does not keep them from bragging about me, yes?” He grinned at her, and she grinned back happily. That sounded familiar, alright. Her own parents were very upset to see her go to Hogwarts every year, but that didn’t keep them from bragging to their friends that she got top marks at her private school in the north.

“Ah, ve are going in.” Victor said suddenly, and Hermione noticed a stream of people had flooded the entrance hall.

“We go up with the other champions, right?” Hermione said happily. “I’m very good friends with Harry and his date, Pavarti. I’ll have to introduce you two.”

Victor smiled again, but it was a little colder this time. Ah, she had forgotten of his jealousy over Harry. It was as completely unfounded as it was the last time, but Hermione wasn’t blind to it this time either. She simply cared more about her friend than her fling.

Harry arrived soon enough, and Minerva was ushering them over to the side of the hall, where they would walk up to the head table. He was right behind her, but didn’t seem to recognize her at all. “Hello, Harry!” She said cheerily.  

He jumped, recognizing her voice. “ _Hermione?_ ” Harry asked. “Blimey, I barely- I mean, you look amazing!”

Pavarti, who held onto Harry’s arm, looked just as awed as he was. “Ooh, Hermione, you look even more beautiful in this lighting!”

“As do you, Pavarti. Oh, can I introduce you to Victor? Harry, you’ve met him briefly, right?” She gestured to Victor redundantly, and he gave a tiny smile. “Victor, this is Harry and his date, Pavarti. They’re both in the same year as me.”

“It is a pleasure to make your aqvuaintance,” Victor said politely. “I saw you fly, Harry, at the first task. You fly very vell.”

Harry looked stunned that he was getting a compliment from a professional Quiddich player. “I- wow, thank you.” He said excitedly. “I saw you too, at the Quiddich World Cup. That Wronski feint was, just, wow.”

Hermione giggled at his ineloquence, and he shot her a glare. “Pavarti, were you at the World Cup?” She asked, trying to include her.

“Oh no,” she said, and seemed to enjoy the attention she was getting. She flipped her hair back, which was pulled up in an elegant ponytail. “Mum and dad root for India, and they didn’t want to go see Bulgaria after that clobbering.” Victor shrugged, now looking a bit uncomfortable himself. “No offence, Victor.” She added. India must have lost to Bulgaria by a wide margin, Hermione mused.

“None taken, Pav-ardey.” Despite the fact that he mispronounced her name, Pavarti looked thrilled.

The crowd was finally starting to thin, and soon enough Minerva was back, asking them to walk up to the head table together. Cho and Cedric went first, followed by Fleur and Roger Davies, and then it was Hermione’s turn to walk up with Victor. She got a satisfied smirk from Draco, an outright hostile glare from Ron, and about a thousand students whispering to one another about the champions, and, most likely, her.

Severus’s jaw almost dropped as she passed him, at least as much as Severus’s jaw ever dropped – so, about a single centimeter.  She did warn him that she could clean up, after all. He glanced down to her stomach, where he knew she was now scarred, and her good mood vanished. For a few scant minutes, she had been able to pretend she was a Cinderella at the ball, but that brought back her demons. She suddenly felt very uncomfortable in her own skin. Sure she looked beautiful with this dress on, but they couldn’t see the ugly mottled skin underneath.

“Vere vould you like to sit?” Victor asked, pulling her out of her morose musings. There were two spots open, one between Karkaroff and Dumbledore, and the other between Dumbledore and Percy, who was standing in for Barty Crouch.

Hermione desperately wanted to stay away from Dumbledore, afraid that he would notice something wasn’t right about her, but knew there was no chance of sitting next to Percy. Even now, Karkaroff was waving Victor over excitedly. “Oh, wherever you like,” she said with a false sense of cheer.

Maybe Harry had a point. Dances really weren’t made for having fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing! There's still a good amount of fic left, it'll probably breach 50 chapters (oops). Let me know what you like and don't like, or what you'd like to see more of! I'd be happy to tailor my writing to you lovely people if it doesn't disrupt my plans for the fic.  
> I have two more references to other fanfiction in this chapter. The first is “Again and Again” by Athey, which is a very bizzare fanfic where Harry has lived his life twelve times over. It’s Athey’s theory of wandless magic and training your kids at a young age that comes up when Hermione and Victor talk before the ball. Second is the name “Statsovenaar,” Dutch for “state wizard.” This also comes from “Make a Wish,” which I credited in a previous chapter as well. Both are well worth the read, but I would say that “Again and Again” is a bit more out there.  
> I am very torn on putting Hermione in a relationship with anyone. Part of me just wants her to be a strong independent woman, and another part wants her to be happy. Who do you guys want to see her with?


	43. Chapter 42 - The Yule Ball, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has a talk with Victor.

Hermione took a seat next to Dumbledore, letting Victor pull the chair out for her. Dumbledore smiled kindly at her, eyes twinkling. Harry was just far enough away that he was inconvenient to chat with, so her options were Victor or Dumbledore. She was very tempted to ignore Dumbledore and pretend to be fully engaged in conversation with Victor. But no, fourth year Hermione would never ignore the Headmaster. Fourth year Hermione had nothing to hide from him. So summoning up all of her acting prowess, she addressed him very calmly. “Hello, Headmaster Dumbledore, how is your evening going?”

He looked at her, still quite cheerful. “Good evening to you too, Miss Granger. I’ve had a marvelous evening. Why just an hour ago, I was enjoying a very good cup of hot cocoa. Professor McGonagall always tells me it will rot my teeth, but I seem to be holding up just fine.”

She blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. “Oh, my parents are dentists.”

“Oh?” He raised a white eyebrow, looking fascinated. “They would probably tell me the same as Professor McGonagall.”

Hermione nodded vigorously. “Oh yes, I wasn’t allowed to have hot cocoa as a kid.”

Victor, who had been sitting in polite bewilderment for the last few moments, finally piped up. “Vat is a dentist? I do not know dis vord.”

Karkaroff leaned over as well. “Oh Victor, do not vorry yourself vith dentists. It is muggle.” He made a face that was decidedly derogatory when he said ‘muggle.’

Dumbledore, who had pretended not to hear him, answered Victor very loudly. “Oh, it is a type of healer, of course. One who specializes in teeth.” She suddenly felt very fond of Dumbledore. For so long, she had lived with the memories of _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ , instead of talking to the real thing. She had forgotten what a genuinely kind man he was.

“I think your teeth are beautivul, Hermy-won.” Victor replied, also ignoring Karkaroff.

“Thank you Victor,” she said, a bit bewildered herself at the turn of the conversation. “Do you like Hogwarts?” She asked, trying to move towards safer waters.

“Oh yes, I find it very vonderful. It is very cold, vere we are. The vinters are harsh, and I haff almost frozen my fingers off vile flying.” He said, rubbing his hands together in reminiscence. “But in the summer, ve see all the mountains and it is qvite beautiful.”

“Vatch out, Victor. You do not vant to be telling your little friend vere we are located!” Karkaroff gave a booming laugh, and Hermione realized time would be repeating itself. She felt as if she had deja-vu, having experienced this exact conversation as it unfolded. But it wasn’t quite deja-vu, was it? She had really lived it before.

She shook the confusing feelings off, just as Dumbledore was finishing a joke about chamber pots. “Ah, pudding. Wonderful stuff!” He said, clapping his hands merrily.

And suddenly, desserts appeared on the plates, no doubt thanks to the efforts of hundreds of house elves. She looked over at Harry, who was surprisingly having a very in-depth conversation with Pavarti and Percy. He didn’t seem _happy_ , per say, but he didn’t look like he was sitting on his golden egg while it burned his bum, either.

And very quickly, she was getting up to dance with Victor. She caught Harry’s eye and gave him a thumbs-up. He grinned back weakly, and actually took Pavarti’s hand of his own free will. Considering her job done, she turned towards Victor.

“You are stunning,” Victor said. “Vut I cannot help vut notice, you are also very distant. Is something on your mind?”

She shook her head quickly. “I’m sorry, Victor. You must be far more used to being in the spotlight than I am.”

“Do not vorry,” he said. “You are doing vonderfully.”

She smiled, and they danced in silence for a while. His eyes were quite beautiful, when you looked past his dark brows. They were a chocolatey brown, with little flecks of amber around the center. She let herself be lost in them for a moment, listening to the music as it flowed. Soon enough, they were joined by hundreds of other students, and the dance floor required all of their attention to navigate.

Finally, Victor gestured towards the sides of the hall, where students and teachers alike were milling about and sipping punch.

He led her off the dance floor, but instead of going to the drink table, he led her outside among the rosebushes. When he finally found a quiet alcove, he gestured for her to sit down on a bench, then followed and put an arm around her.

What was he doing? He hadn’t done this last time. She tried to keep her shoulders from tensing, smiling up at him. He smiled back, but it seemed forced and awkward. What was going on? And then, he was leaning in to her cheek. She thought he would try to kiss her, but he said very quietly, “You reek of dark magic, Hermy-one.”

Hermione tensed up in shock. Before doing anything else, she cast a privacy ward around them, both wordlessly and wandlessly. A penetrating look from Victor showed her that he felt that, too.

How the hell was Victor able to pick that up? It took either a dark magic practitioner, or a very aware wizard to notice the stain of dark magic on another person. And only in very close proximity. Well, he got that easily enough when he was dancing with her, so it wasn’t that much of a stretch that he would notice residue from dark spells. Krum looked at her very seriously. “Experimenting with these things is not safe, Hermy-ony. Ve are learning more of dark magic at Durmstrang, but under very close supervision, and I do not enjoy it. I do not recommend it to young vitches like yourself.”

“Well, Victor, I am a bit of an overachiever.” She winced. Would she have to make Victor believe she was a dark witch, just to keep him from looking closer at the situation? She glanced around, looking for anyone else approaching. “Do you think we could talk about this somewhere else?”

“You know just as vell as me, that your ward is private enuff. Ve could scream, and vould never be heard.” He gave her a very dark look, and she wondered if that was meant as a threat. Maybe she should take it that way.

Hermione was frozen in her seat. Krum’s arm was still around her, but it was more of a vice grip than a loving gesture. “There’s a lot going on that you don’t know about, Victor. But I can assure you, everything I do is to fight the Dark Arts, not to aid them.”

“You haff a funny vay of saying you fight the Dark Arts. Although, you say I do not understand, and dis is true. But I think I vill need to understand.”

Hermione shook her head sadly. “I can’t, Victor.”

“And I can’t be vith a dark vitch, Hermy-one. I knew you vere too good to be true.” He spat at her.

Her eyes watered dangerously. She _needed_ to be on Krum’s good side, it was part of what made Harry’s year go the way it did. She didn’t want to know what it would change, maybe Harry wouldn’t find Crouch in the woods because Victor didn’t take him there, and then Barty Crouch Senior might break away from his imperious and compromise his son’s position as fake Moody, so she would never get a ticket to the graveyard and kill Voldemort…

And to add insult to injury, Victor was trying to use _legilimency_ on her. A very rudimentary, ineffective legilimency, but the fact that he was doing it at all was worrisome. She was about to slam her shields up, but thought better of it. Why not show him what he was looking for?

Victor thought she was a dark witch, not that she had been hit with a very vicious curse. All she needed to do was show him that she fought _against_ it, not for it.

So with that thought, she let him past her defenses and into her mind.

_They were huddled over the gravestone, trying to undo the protections on it, arguing over what to do._

_“It’s the only way!” she said loudly, desperately._

_She grit her teeth, preparing herself for what she knew would be an absolutely terrible experience._

_Hermione started slowly, slowly pulling upwards, lifting the curse off of the gravestone._

_The dark spell curled up viciously. Hermione’s knuckles were white around her wand. And at long last, it became smaller and smaller, gathering at the tip of her wand like a funnel cloud._

_The spell tore against the flesh of her stomach, and her yell turned into a scream of unadulterated pain. It burned, a white-hot agony that made her see stars – and with one last ditch effort, she swiped her wand to the left, flinging the curse away from her and into a nearby headstone._

_Hermione clutched her stomach, gasping for breath. White hot agony coursed through her._

Victor recoiled with a yell. “Vat vas _that?”_

“That’s why I reek of dark magic, Victor. I’m not a dark witch, I’m desperately trying to fight the dark. Just like you.” She nodded at him, noting his attempt to stop her. “Although if I _was_ a dark witch, you would’ve made a bloody stupid move just then. I could’ve killed you if I wanted.”

Victor shook his head. “I haff a friend looking out vor me, if anything happened I vould have backup.”

She snorted. “In the future, don’t confront potentially dark witches or wizards without at least _two_ people for backup. And where is this friend, anyway? How did you get him to follow us?”

“Invisibility cloak,” he said simply. “And ve use legilemenzy vor communication.”

“I’ve never heard of that.” She said imperiously.

Victor eyed her consideringly. “You are a strong vitch, Hermy-one. But you haff much arrogance, as vell. I am still older than you, and had very different schooling.”

She wanted to roll her eyes at Victor. He was being extremely aggravating, seeing as Hermione was actually about twenty-four at this point and she definitely knew more than him. _Bugger that,_ she thought to herself. _He’s the arrogant one, the git, he, he, well… he might have a point. Dammit._ Hermione thought back to her actions that night. She hadn’t shielded against anyone detecting the dark magic, so focused on ignoring her own injury in favor of looking like a queen. And she was sat between Victor and Dumbledore, who definitely had enough awareness to realize she reeked of dark magic as well.

“You make good points, Victor. I have been arrogant, more so than you’d realize.” Her mouth curled in self-disgust. Even after she realized the gravity of the situation, she still hadn’t been treating it with proper care. She would have to have to start taking things more seriously, including Victor. “And you have a very different skillset.”

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes and probing just the tiniest bit with legilimency – just enough for him to notice she was there. “Will you teach me?”

Victor smiled. “I vill. But I vould like to know how you learned your skills, if your parents are dentists.”

“It’s a deal. But this is neither the time nor the place. I believe there’s a party going on.” She glanced out across the garden, where Madam Maxime was walking away in a huff. And finally, she let the privacy ward dissipate.

Victor seemed to get her message, and stood up. “Vould you accompany me inside?”

“I would love to, Victor.” She put her hand on his arm, and they started walking back through the gardens. There were still alcoves inhabited by students, but there seemed to be less than last time. The ball was winding down, and she was honestly quite happy to let the night end. It had been a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I wasn't expecting such an overwhelming response to my question about pairings. It looks like the overwhelming majority of you wanted HG/SS. I like that pairing as well, but I'm not quite decided yet for this fic. If you like, you can squint and see their actions as a romantic attraction, but it's just as easy to imagine them as close allies.


	44. Chapter 43 - Post-Ball Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione deals with the events of the yule ball, and has a few conversations.

Unfortunately for Hermione, fate did not allow her to go peacefully to bed. Instead, she and Viktor ran straight into Harry, Pavarti, Padma, and Ron.

They had gotten inside the great hall and almost out the door to the entrance hall, when Harry spotted her and waved her over. “Hermione!” He said loudly. Damn that boy. She sighed, putting off her dreams of sleep for at least another hour.

“Harry! Hello,” she said warmly. “It’s quite hot in here, isn’t it?”

“Erm, if you say so,” he said neutrally. “So,” he ran a hand through his hair. “How was your night?”

Hermione looked up at Victor, who had followed and now stood silently next to her. “Oh, it was quite fun, I think.”

Seeing her gaze land on him, Viktor took the cue to pipe up as well. “Ve had a very good night. Vat about you, Potter?”

Harry looked at Hermione nervously, as if she was supposed to tell him the answer in her tutorial on dances. “Erm, good. Yeah, we had a good time, I think. Right, Parvati?” Parvati, who had been sharing looks with her sister, nodded distractedly.

Hermione would’ve stayed to chat, but she saw Ron sitting sullenly at a nearby table and didn’t want to be there long enough to cause an explosion. “Well, it’s been a long night,” she said hedgingly. “And I think I want to turn in for the night. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see you,” said Harry. “Actually, I think it’s pretty late as well.” He started to move away from the table, but Hermione gave him an angry glare, then glanced pointedly towards Parvati. “Erm, Parvati, could I escort you to the dorm?”

Pavrati looked over at Padma, who waved her onwards. “Yes, that sounds fine,” she replied.

If Hermione was any less exhausted, she would’ve probably paid a bit more attention to Viktor on her way up to Gryffindor tower, but she was spent. He gave her a kiss on the hand and a very loaded, “Thank you vor tonight, Hermy-one,” before leaving for the Durmstrang ship. As soon as he was out of sight, Parvati squealed in delight.

“Oh Hermione, I can’t _believe_ you got to go with Viktor Krum! How _dreamy_ , he’s such a good flier, and so _famous_ , oh are you going to date him?” She asked at about the same speed Hermione would answer questions in class. Harry looked a bit bemused by the situation. Maybe he realized, just as she did, that the way Parvati described Viktor would also describe him.

“We didn’t really plan that far ahead, Parvati,” she said. “But we had a good night, I think.”

“Oh, you’ll have to tell me and Lav all about it,” Parvati said excitedly, and Hermione forced herself to smile. There went another hour of sleep, she realized. She effectively had to leave out a whole chunk of the night, and if she knew Parvati and Lavender at all, they would fill in the details as if it were a soap opera – that is, lots of passion, romanticism, and a few events that were pretty much the opposite of what happened.

They split off from Harry very shortly after that. He thanked Parvati for being his date, and then left, rubbing his eyes. Hermione looked after him with a bit of pride. She really had made the night go a lot more smoothly, at least for Harry and Parvati. She certainly didn’t, and the vote was still out for Ron and Padma.

And as she expected, Parvati chattered her ear off about the ball, how wonderfully fun it was (“Although Harry was a really bad dancer, Hermione, I know he’s your friend, but _really_ ,”) and about how she hoped her sister had fun. Hermione had to beg a few minutes peace so she could change in the bathroom.

It was a decidedly unpleasant thing, to strip herself from charms, clothes, and beauty products, only to be left with her scarred body. The injury ran horizontally across her chest, down her stomach, and curling all the way down to her thigh. The tissue was raised, looking like molten lava placed atop her skin, and very ugly indeed. She looked at it magically, staying incredibly detached for someone looking at her permanent disfigurement for the first time.

Looking at it with mage sight was a surprise; not because it looked even angrier, churning against her skin, but by the sheer amount of power behind the curse still. Viktor was right. It _reeked_ of dark magic: it looked and smelled metallic, like rusted iron, and she was sure if it had a sound, it would be screaming like a book in the restricted section.

She sighed. She should’ve figured out how to shield this from the rest of the world before the ball. Anyone with half a mind for dark magic and decent mage sight would be able to tell that something was going on with her. That must’ve been why Severus looked so astonished when he saw her. He was probably wondering why she hadn’t shielded, or perhaps he was amazed that his own spell had such a lasting effect on her.

She scowled to herself in the mirror. There was no time to mope – the last thing she wanted was for Parvati to wander in while she was still undressed, see her scar, and have to be obliviated. Which meant she had to shield the dark magic, contain it so that it didn’t reveal to everyone around her that she was tainted with living dark magic – it was different than having a scar like Harry’s, for his was already settled into his skin until it was re-ignited. It was almost like the curse was still active, it hadn’t healed over yet.

She took a look at it, and realized that it _was_ still active, just frozen. Whatever potion Severus had used on her, it trapped the curse so it wouldn’t spread farther. With no more flesh to attack, it would eventually die down. But it hadn’t yet, even twenty-four hours after the fact.

The only shield she knew that would stop magical residue was a containment charm. It was originally used to direct magic towards certain plants, and away from weeds that you wouldn’t want to magically help grow (She had read about it in _Advanced Herbology, Grade 7_ ). But since it worked on all living things, not just plants, she would be able to use it on herself. It would take a certain amount of concentration, since it was an active charm, but it wouldn’t drain her any more than lighting her wand with _lumos_. It would have to do.

“ _Rectacipleum!”_ She said strongly, circling her stomach three times with her wand. Then, under mage sight, she saw the curse start to recede.

A tiny, tiny bit of her energy was now focused on limiting the curse to the tiniest space around her skin. If no one touched her directly on the scar, they would never notice the dark magic still leaking out of the curse. If they did happen to touch her, though, they would feel it even more concentratedly than before. A tradeoff, Hermione knew, but a much safer solution than leaving herself unprotected.

The energy drain was really a drop in the bucket, especially considering she had been maintaining shields and personal wards – both mental and physical – for over a year in this timeline. Her magic was used to being utilized to this extent, and it would hardly tire her unless she were already magically exhausted.

Sighing, Hermione realized she could wait no longer. It was time to re-join Parvati, and Lavender too, unless she had decided to hook up with Seamus this time around. Rolling her eyes at their juvenile behavior (why would you _ever_ choose to engage in a loose relationship with someone you had to live with for the next three years?), Hermione threw on her pajamas and a very forced smile.

Lavender had returned after all, and Hermione was spared hours of one-on-one time with Parvati. She sat back, letting them make the most of the conversation, and instead took stock over her own night.

Viktor was the second person she had revealed anything of a more… sensitive nature. Severus was an unplanned addition to their little crusade, but he was both a useful and a welcome one. Viktor, on the other hand, he may just be a problem.

She _liked_ Viktor. He was a gallant man, who had been a good friend for years last time around. Hermione was confident that he was on the right side of this whole issue, too, and that made it all the harder. Because Hermione had to handle this security breach – and she knew it was dangerous for him to associate Hermione Granger and dark magic, however innocently – but she also had to stay close to him, so she would be a part of the second task. And that was two months away. She was sure if she asked Severus or Draco, they would first be quite upset and then demand to memory modify him. Either that, or she should put him under one of her specialized potions, so he couldn’t share the information, even under veritaserum.

But for all that Viktor was a good man, he was more of a wild card than she was comfortable with. Upon reflection, there were a lot of wild cards she was uncomfortable with. For instance, Rita Skeeter hadn’t tripped any of the many, many wards she kept around her, identifying transformed animagi within a twenty-foot radius.

It was a very fun personal ward to make, actually, because she had to specify the spell of an animagus and only identify it in its active form, ie. someone transformed. If she had spelled it for all animagi, she would feel an uncomfortable itching sensation every time she was around her head of house, Sirius Black, or Albus Dumbledore. Then she had to specify twenty feet, no more and no less. It was hard to make such a specification, because her magic was used to some amount of ebb and flow. But yet another ward limited people from hearing her clearly after twenty feet, and she wanted to know if that woman was starting to go after Hermione Granger.

Because for all intents and purposes, Hermione Granger and the Heroine of Sussex were very different people. And Skeeter, although she had some very good sleuthing skills, shouldn’t be able to make a connection between them. If she _did_ , and she came to a place Hermione would be without the draw of a big event – the second task, perhaps – she was in trouble.

As things went, she was going to use the second task as an opportunity to cage the meddlesome reporter. Hermione, or really, the Heroine, couldn’t grab Skeeter out of the blue. But if Hermione Granger blackmailed her in the same way she had last time, well now they had a bit more freedom.

She wondered if Skeeter could’ve hidden the information better – an informational fidelus, perhaps. But no, she didn’t have anyone else who knew about her bug form, as far as Hermione knew. And you needed a secret keeper for that.

Suddenly, Hermione had one of those lovely ah-ha moments she was prone to.  

Skeeter was a loose cannon, looser than Viktor. If she could offer to be her secret keeper, and keep _anyone_ from learning that she was an illegal animagus, well that was the _perfect, permanent blackmail._ She would have to brag about the plan to Severus and Draco.

* * *

“It would never work.” Draco said in the squishy office created by the Room of Requirements, the next day. “There’s too many reasons for her to say no to you. And then, if she can find someone she trusts, she would just use them instead.”

Hermione frowned. “That’s fair, I suppose. And if she used someone else, we would both forget through the magic of the fidelus.”

“So you have to trap her, make her feel like she has no other options. Keeping you in her confidences as a secret keeper is not a fair trade. Unless she sees a pressing and present need for secrecy, she won’t act. But she’s a bit of an idiot anyway, if she hadn’t concealed herself better this whole time.” He sneered, and Hermione was reminded of his ‘outside face.’ The face he showed the world, not the face he used with her.

But Draco scornfully continued, “Much less had a better cover if she were found out. Maybe a friend in the auror department who could destroy the papers, or a _lot_ of friends on the Wizagnamot. Which she doesn’t have. My father wouldn’t support her, nor would his allies.”

She frowned harder, thinking. “You may be making this a bit more complicated than it needs to be.”

“Oh? How do you figure?”

“Well, I have it on _very_ good authority that Rita Skeeter will hide in my hair during the second task.” She smiled darkly.

“How the _bloody hell_ did Skeeter end up in your hair?” He asked, speaking of the last timeline.

She sighed. “It’s about all of those love triangle stories, which still have to happen, by the way. But regardless, I figured out Skeeter’s secret as a fifteen year old, and had her trapped in a jar for weeks. She lived off of grass and worms, and it was _glorious.”_ Hermione grinned her wickedest, and she saw Draco recoil slightly.

“Well, then.” Draco responded slowly. “That does open up some options. Think about it for a moment, there’ll be an opportunity for you to kidnap Skeeter and have her at her mercy. Well then, we can give her an ultimatum. Take her to somewhere she can’t transform, and tell her to take an Unbreakable Vow to follow our guidance, never reveal our secrets or act against us, that sort of thing. If she says no, we obliviate the stuffing out of her and put her under the Imperius until further notice.” Draco looked at her intensely, and met Hermione’s eyes, making sure he hadn’t offended her Gryffindor sensibilities.

“And if she says yes?” Hermione said in reply.

He grinned sharply. “If she says yes, we offer her a Fidelus to keep her secret safe, and may end up putting her under the Imperius anyway. You know, we could actually force her to work for us using a combination of a Fidelus and a few compulsions.”

“I don’t know about that last part, Draco, but I think you may be right. It’s the best way to deal with her, and we definitely have to do _something_.”

Draco nodded his agreement. “Do you think we should ask Severus’s opinion?”

* * *

“That is an _imbecilic_ idea.” Snape said snidely, after Hermione and Draco described their plan for Skeeter. “You would be much better off simply demanding she work for you. In fact, have a sealed envelope ready to send to the Prophet and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with your insider information about Skeeter. Add a memory of you seeing her transform, for believability.

“You are both _fools_ if you think to make her agree to a vow and a Fidelus. It is that or destruction by _obliviate_ , similar to our dear old Lockhart’s fate.”

“You suggest we give her the options of an Unbreakable Vow to obey us, _plus_ voluntarily put the information under a Fidleus for her, or become a mental vegetable?” Draco asked incredulously.

“Actually, I think I may agree with him, Draco.” Hermione said reluctantly. Her ego was a bit bruised that her idea had been so summarily overruled, but at least the core of the Fidelus had stayed in the plan. And this plan had no room for ego, unfortunately. “Who benefits the most from a Fidelus with me as secret keeper?” She asked.

“Oh,” Draco said voicelessly. “You mean to keep any _other_ potential blackmailers from finding out?”

“Or remembering, were they to know of it before.” Severus added. “The Fidelus erases the memory _completely_ from the minds of all but the Secret Keeper. Which means Hermione, as Keeper, would need to share the secret with us before we would remember having this conversation.”

“Hang on, even Skeeter wouldn’t know the secret?”

“I have little experience with informational Fideli. But you can allow her to use it under out direction. It would be nice to be a spymaster instead of a spy for once.”

Hermione sipped her earl gray. “That’s all well and good, but I can’t act until February anyway. I have to wait until Skeeter’s already disappeared in her beetle form. What I really need your advice on is Viktor _._ ”

“Oh no Hermione, what did you do?” Draco moaned. “You bloody romantic Gryffindor, you didn’t _tell him_ , did you?”

She stiffened, insulted. “Of course I didn’t, Draco! I may be a Gryffindor, but that doesn’t make me an idiot!”

Draco and Severus shared a glance of such skepticality that Hermione couldn’t even pretend to have missed it. “He cornered me in the gardens last night, called me a dark witch. I hadn’t realized that my scar was still so… potent.” Severus gave a wince at that, and she remembered that he felt a bit of responsibility for her injury. Funny, that. “Anyway, I showed him the curse I got. He used legilimency, and I thought it was easier to just let him see a plausible explanation for me having dark residue without being a dark witch.”

“Why didn’t you cast _Rectacipleum?_ ” Draco cut in. “Looks like you’ve got it now.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “An oversight. I realize you tried to alert me, Severus, but I just didn’t think about the consequences.” To be fair, the only other times she had cast dark magic were during the third war, and at that point it was useless to shield. Everyone else had the same residue, it became like a second skin for the entire Resistance.

“We obliviate him.” Snape said calmly. “It wouldn’t be difficult to replace the scene in which you revealed your secrets to him with a suitably romantic liaison.”

“He’s an occlumens,” Hermione said sharply. “Not a great one, but just enough that he could probably retrieve the memories.”

Draco scoffed at this. “Mione, you might not know, but Severus is the best legilimens in the last _three generations_. I highly doubt he could break an overlayed memory placed by him.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “It seems you seem to be cleaning up my messes, Severus.”

“I’m quite used to it, Miss Granger. Don’t expect the same treatment after the Dark Lord is finally defeated.”

“After the Dark Lord is dead, we won’t have any messes in the first place.” Hermione countered. But a part of her wondered if that was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was pointed out to me that Viktor is spelled with a K, so I’ll eventually go back and fix all of those. In the meantime, I’ll be writing it correctly from now on.  
> Thanks for reading, everyone! Real life has gotten busy for me, and my last year of school is starting soon. I will keep updating for you lovely people, but it may slow considerably. This chapter was the culmination of a few days of writing, and is subsequently a thousand words longer than my normal chapters. Is it too long, or are you guys fine with it?


	45. Chapter 44 - Occlumency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione learns about some very interesting magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The actions and statements of the characters do not reflect the ideology of the author in this chapter.  
> Additionally, italics will indicate mental speech, while quotations will continue to represent normal speech.

Viktor, true to his word, made arrangements to teach her communicative legilimency, which was more a combination of legilimency and occlumency than pure legilimency. They were scheduled to meet that evening to discuss it at length. Hermione had used the day once already to talk to Severus and Draco. She was loath to double back on the holidays for something so unimportant, but figured the day could be used for other things as well.

Namely, getting the inevitable confrontation with Ron out of the way. She knew from his expression that she would be getting an earful later, not that she particularly deserved it. Hermione had long given up on this timeline’s Ronald Weasley. Honestly, she had given up on the last timeline’s Ron as well, but he had died by that time so it became a moot point. Of course, last-timeline Hermione had been enamored with _Draco_ , although she knew that wasn’t going anywhere. She almost wished Draco would forget the whole debacle, but the obliviate wasn’t worth the risk (unfortunately).

Shaking those unsatisfactory thoughts off, Hermione got up properly from her classroom camp bed, stretched, and headed back to Gryffindor tower to face the music.

The music, however horrendous, did not disappoint. Ron gave an ugly sneer when he spotted her. “Oh look at that, the _traitor_ arrives. Where were you, Hermione, spending time with dear old Vikky?”

“What the hell do you mean, Ronald?” Hermione asked, and even Harry was surprised by her vulgarity.

Harry took a few steps back, for good measure. He seemed to have already gotten the gist of Ron’s feelings – she was sure he had ranted about it the whole night before. “I _mean_ , Hermione, you’ve become some sort of… loose cow!”

Hermione’s eyes bogged out. “Pray tell how you think I’m either loose _or_ a bovine?” She said with a dangerously dark tone. “Ronald, no matter how much jealousy you had that _I_ was Victor’s date, it’s no reason to take it out on _me._ ”

Ron spluttered, and Harry snorted with laughter. She had accurately anticipated his utter _horror_ as seeming to fancy Viktor. It was pretty rare in Wizarding culture, after all, to find an openly gay individual. Especially for a pureblood, the stigma ran almost as deep as it did in the Muggle world. Some such rot about _preserving the bloodlines_ – as if anything could stop the Weasley progeny! 

“I’m, I’m not some sort of… _nancy boy_. But selling yourself to Victor for attention makes you worse than that!”

A hush fell over the common room, and their housemates, who had been pretending not to listen in, were now openly staring at them. “My relationship with Victor,” Hermione growled, “Remains _none of your business._ You have called me loose, you have called me a cow, and now you sink even further by calling me a whore. Well, Ronald, you’ve said one thing right this evening.”

The quiet became deafening over the common room, hanging onto her word. “Someone has become a traitor tonight.” And on that note, she glided up the stairs to the girl’s dorms, unintentionally looking quite like Severus with her billowing black cloak.

She didn’t turn around, not even when Ron got over the shock of what just happened and called up to her. “Hermione! I, I didn’t mean it!” She snorted. Of course he didn’t mean it. He was a boy with a crush, and they were prone to doing stupid things when they were denied the object of their desire. Fate was a funny one, that was for sure. For instead of Harry and Ron being estranged this year, it was her and Ron, leaving Harry in the middle. Good riddance, if Ron didn’t realize what sort of mistakes he made, he was more of a lost cause than she thought.

Hermione tried to slam her door, but it thudded back open with a lot of force. Ginny had blocked it with her foot. “Ginny, I know you love your brother, but I don’t know if I can handle a speech about forgiveness right now.”

Ginny snorted, and pulled out what was unmistakably two bottles of Butterbeer. “Good, ‘cause you won’t get one.” She handed a bottle to Hermione, who took it gratefully. She could do with something warm. She took a sip, letting the heat wash over her. The drink wasn’t alcoholic in the least, but it still had a sort of heat to it that warmed her up.

“Ron’s a blasted idiot.” Ginny said, taking a swig from her bottle much like one might take a sip of a beer. “And he’s got a mad crush on you-“ She held up a hand so Hermione wouldn’t interrupt. “Not excusing his actions by any means. Honestly it probably makes it worse.”

“I know.” Hermione said simply.

“You know it makes it worse?” Ginny said, confused. They were now both sitting on Hermione’s four-poster, her resting against the headboard and Ginny opposite her.

Hermione gave her a look. “No, Ginny. I’ve known for a while now.”

“Hang on- you _knew_ he had a crush on you? How?” She gave Ginny another look, this one so droll that she really needed no words. “Ok, ok, fine. He’s one of your best friends and you’re a right deal more perceptive than him. Or really any of the other Gryffindors.”

“Oh, don’t put yourself down, Ginny. You’re very perceptive too.”

Ginny smiled mischievously. “Maybe I am. I don’t think anyone else’s noticed that you sneak out more than any other Gryffindor. Not even your own dorm-mates.”

Hermione tensed. This, she couldn’t possibly have imagined. She was warded, disillusioned, and spelled against sight, sound, or smell. Yet _still_ , Ginny could sense her. “Whatever do you mean?” Hermione said, casually taking a sip of her Butterbeer.

“The portraits like me.” She said smugly. “I’ve learned that smarmying up to them can be dead useful. They’re not like ghosts, you know, that are so disconnected from reality that they barely notice what’s happening in the castle. They’re stuck in the exact same personality and temperament they had when they died. And _that_ means any busy-body from their living years can’t help but be a busy-body here. It’s in their blood – or paint, I should say.”

Hermione hadn’t known that, actually, but she did know that wizarding paintings were quite dynamic. “I don’t understand where you’re going with this, Ginny.”

“Oh stop denying it!” Ginny said, angry now. “I thought I was your _friend_ , Hermione. Friends don’t keep secrets!”

She grimaced, knowing just too well how hotheaded a slighted Gryffindor could be. “Ginny, I will tell you. I will. But I can’t right now.”

“An oath?”

“Not quite.” Hermione said truthfully. It wasn’t a Wizarding oath, in the magically-binding sense. But it was an oath she made to herself, and more importantly to Draco and Severus and the entire cause. She could’ve just told Ginny she had a time-turner, and been done with it. But she hadn’t studied occlumency (not many had, especially at her age) and it was a security risk. At the very least, Dumbledore would be even more suspicious of her. At the worst, Barty Crouch or Poppy Pomphrey or even Viktor Krum could read her thoughts like a book.

“Alright, I won’t pry.” Ginny said finally. “Cause I trust you not to be doing something stupid, and partially cause of what my brother just did. But I want an answer later, alright?”

Hermione nodded. “Thank you, Ginny.”

Ginny took another swig from her Butterbeer. “What are friends for?” She said very cheerfully. But when she thought Hermione wasn’t looking, her expression was guarded and suspicious. Hermione knew she would have to be more careful, but there was an easy fix for this.

“ _Obliviate!”_ Hermione said very softly. “You will forget that Hermione Granger sneaks out at night. You will forget this confrontation, but you will remember everything else.”

Ginny’s eyes glazed over for a moment, and she returned to her normal snarky self.

“I’m sorry that my brother’s been such a clot to you. I’ll go knock some sense into him, if I can.”

Hermione looked at her gratefully, trying to keep the guilt from creeping up and settling low in her stomach. “Thanks, Ginny. You’re a good friend.”

Ginny grinned, hopped up, and took one last swig of her Butterbeer. “Blimey, I didn’t realize I had drunk this much.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say to that, so she just raised her own drink in farewell.

It was with a heavy heart and busy mind that Hermione transfigured her cloak much warmer, left Gryffindor Tower, and trekked out to see Viktor near the Durmstrang ship. Hermione was all too happy to learn a new skill, and perhaps even a new ally. She could see communication via legilimency becoming a very useful skill indeed.

She was a bit confused at the sheer density of legilimens at the school. She knew it was considered a rare ability, along with occlumency, for those not lucky enough to have natural skill had to practice almost constantly to learn. From her studies, she learned that one in twelve grown witches and wizards had the potential for an easy, if painful, way to learn occlumency. One in a hundred was the same for legilimency, and it was something as rare as one in a hundred thousand for a complete natural in either practice.

Severus Snape just happened to be one in a million – a natural legilimens, and someone for whom occlumency came remarkably easily. It was this method he tried to use on Harry to build up his occlumency shields, but Harry was one of the many _un_ gifted in the population. Severus’s attacks would’ve been completely ineffective for Harry, but Severus must’ve been unaware of that. Maybe Lily Potter had been a quick learner, so he was expecting it to carry genetically?

She was also one for whom the quick method would never work, but Hermione Granger had never shied away from years and years of intensive study. She had studied – in secret – ever since Harry got assigned lessons in fifth year. By the time Draco taught her more formally, she was already in possession of a sizable mind-palace and mental defenses. The well-organized mind was a protected mind, after all.

But Hogwarts, for whatever reason, seemed to have more than their share of occlumens and legilimens. Severus and Albus, she could see. But Poppy, Crouch, and – she suspected – Minerva, not to mention a good portion of the Slytherin students, were all proficient for their age. That wasn’t even including Viktor or Karkaroff, Madam Maxime (who had an advantage of being half-giant, making her pretty un-legilimance-able), Septima, Fleur, her twin friends Margot and Anton, and a half-dozen others she hadn’t interacted with. That was too many to be natural, or even easy for them to learn. They must have learned like her, painstakingly slowly.

Although, considering the past and future political climates, those occlumens and legilimens were the most useful and dangerous members of society. And the magical portions of WWII still shook the continent, so it made sense that so many members of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were trained in the mind arts. They probably taught electives on them.

She finally reached the ship, where Viktor was waiting patiently. “Hermyon,” he said seriously. “I am glad you haff come.”

“I wouldn’t miss it, Viktor.” She said sweetly, and let him kiss her hand. “Where do you want to do this?” She asked a bit awkwardly. Her go-to spot, the Room of Requirements, was currently occupied by past-Hermione and Draco.

“I haff varded a field in the forest,” he said smugly. She had the distinct impression that he was showing off. “Come, ve vill speak there.”

He cast a low-powered Notice-Me-Not charm, just enough for no one to find them walking into the Forbidden Forest significant, and they went into the woods without event. Hermione was shivering by the time they had trekked far enough for the castle to disappear, replaced by thousands of brown trunks and snowdrifts. “Are you cold, Hermyone?”

Viktor was already taking off his Durmstrang furs, and slinging them around her shoulders. “Thank you, Viktor,” she said appreciatively. The moment the furs settled around her, she felt as if the cold had disappeared, replaced by what might as well be a pleasant spring breeze. “These must be enchanted!” Hermione exclaimed. “That’s some powerful stuff.”

“I did it myself, Hermyone.” He said proudly. “Stitched vith runes on the inside, reinforced vith enchantments on the outside.” She wanted very much to examine the overcoat, but she was much more fond of the heat it gave off. “Ah, ve haff made it.” He pushed aside a branch, brought low with almost a foot of snow, and it revealed a clearing free of snow. In fact, there was a great swath of grass in the clearing, and she could see buds springing up within the circle.

“Wow, when have you had the time to make this, Viktor?” Hermione asked, partially impressed and partially confused by why one would spend so very much time creating a geothermally independent bubble in a magically saturated forest. But it had an advantage, she realized, that it was right outside of Hogwart's own wards. Just far enough that he could jump back in at a sign of danger, but also that he could cast any sort of magic, and anyone could apparate in and out at will. Very clever.

“Vell, once I became school champion, Headmaster Karkaroff told me I vas free to train however I liked. I vould haff to take my Arbitur exams – you call them NEWT’s, I haff been told – but he thinks they are overrated for me.” She was sure Viktor didn’t agree, by the look on his face. She remembered him telling her about his parents, and how they always pushed him towards academia. “I created this so my tutors can come to teach me. Karkaroff is… not a teacher I vould like to learn from. And he is the only von here.”

She had no idea, the last time around, that Viktor had gone to such lengths to continue his education. And that, at the same time as he was attending weekend Quiddich practices for the Bulgarian team, _and_ preparing for the tournament. She idly wondered if he could possibly have a time-turner as well.

Viktor led her to the clearing, and she felt the wards wash over her as she entered. Suddenly, his lovely enchanted cloak was suffocatingly warm, and she took it off almost immediately. The clearing really was beautifully crafted. Now that she was on the inside, she could see the stone circle that lined the clearing. On the outside, it was hidden by snow, and she had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn’t have seen the clearing at all if Viktor hadn’t wanted her to.

“Is this… a fairy circle?” She asked tentatively. Viktor nodded silently. “Viktor, this is amazing!”

“It is standard fair at Durmstrang,” he waved off her praise. “Do not tell Karkaroff – he is qvite paranoid – but ve are located in Svalbard, the most northern island in Norvay. It is considered very small, by mundanes, because ve have put a dozen circles on the land. The biggest one, vith the castle, is spelled to haff four seasons, vhere ve are never too cold. It takes very large amounts of magic, vich is vy Durmstrang takes students from everyvhere. The students bring in the magic, and so long as there are students, the entire valley stays very moderate.”

She gaped, both at the information and his willingness to share it with her. And, the part of her that was still impressed by new forms of magic whispered, that _fairy circles_ were real.

“I haff brought you here, Hermyone, for many reasons.” Viktor said slowly. “Virst, I vanted to prove to you that ve have a very different upbringing. The fairy circles only touch the surface of these differences. But ve seem to haff similar views, despite this. I haff thought about my actions last night, and I haff decided I vas too reckless in my accusation. Residue from Dark Magic can be from casting _or_ from being cast upon, I am avare.”

Hermione kept herself from snorting. It was easy enough to say that in hindsight, when she was clearly in the latter category. “Viktor, I do not blame you for your actions yesterday. In fact, I’m glad you brought it to my attention, so I could fix the issue altogether.” She spread her arms out, inviting him to look for any residue.

He stared at her very intently, and finally came in close to her. He pressed his body to hers in a tight hug, and she stiffened. That was the downfall of the charm she used. It was only effective as long as she avoided physical contact with anyone who could detect it. “I see.” Was all he said. “This vould vork, you are correct. But it vill keep you from healing, Hermyone.”

She moved her head back, which had been stuffed into Viktor’s shoulder when he hugged her. “I used _rectaponerequae_. That can’t possibly keep it from healing.”

“It vas a spell meant to contain magic, Hermyone, not to dispel it. You vould need a healer to pull something that dark from you.” He grimaced, and broke their hug. “Vhatever you have done to yourself vas very foolish, Hermyone, and I vould like to understand this story. But that is not my only reason for bringing you here. I promised to teach you to communicate through legilimency, and I vill."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry guys, this is going to be one doozy of an authors note. Firstly, Rectaponerequae is latin that has been botched beyond belief, but it uses the words right, contain, and small. Together, it can be interpreted as contain in the right small space. It’s about as realistic as “Sectumsempera” which means “always cut.”  
> Please continue telling me what you like, what you’d like to see, and if I’ve mis-spelled anyone else’s names (Viktor and Parvati have taken those hits so far). Does anyone have any feedback on Viktor’s accent? I have put way more effort than I thought I would to keep his words consistent to canon.  
> References: The two methods for learning Occlumency come from The Sinister Man’s Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin, which has been considered the hallmark of HP fanfiction by many. It’s definitely worth a read, even though it’s already 700k words and still running :P. I’m sure many of you have read it, but my dad has not. Dad, if you read my authors notes, you should read HPatPoS. Lord knows I’ve talked to you about it enough.  
> Background on Svalbard: Svalbard is a real place, which was a surprise to me (I first read about it in Phillip Pullman’s The Golden Compass). It’s one of the most northern settlements that is inhabited full-time, and the muggles think it’s very small and inhospitable.  
> Background on Durmstrang: Arbitur tests are very similar to A Levels in German university prep schools, if my German knowledge is correct. A lot of influence for Durmstrang comes from German and Germanic languages (including Swedish, Norwegian, and Old Norse). The Wizarding World, which moves much slower than the Muggle World in general, kept their linguistic and social ties even as people moved across the continent and created very very different cultures. Durmstrang feeds from the entire Proto-Indo European language tree, but most heavily from the Germanic branches.


	46. Chapter 45 - Legilimency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione learns that legilimency is a little more dangerous than she ever realized.

Viktor looked at her expectantly, clearly hoping to her story first. Hermione would much rather see how good his shields were, how good his legilimency was, before deciding whether to tell the truth.

“Why not combine them?” Hermione asked. “You teach me to speak to you through our minds, and I’ll tell you my story through it.”

“Vat is the phrase you British use? Ah yes, ‘ _great minds think alike.”_ Viktor said. “I think that is a good idea as vell.” Without any further words, he sat down cross-legged, and motioned for her to do the same. She sat across from him, looking into his eyes guilelessly, but really using the time to stuff the most important memories to the “restricted section” of her mindscape. Viktor would have to get past all of her defenses to reach her precious memories – memories of the future, of working with Draco and Severus, anything that could damn her.

And suddenly, she was feeling him _poke_ at her shields. Not a painful feeling, more like someone was hovering very close to her, invading her space. She lowered her shields tentatively, inch by inch, and the feeling got stronger. Finally, the impenetrable bubble of her occlumency shields receded into the mental equivalent of a wooden fence, which Viktor had no trouble bypassing.

A weird feeling came over her, that uncomfortable impression of being watched.

 _And do you hear me now?_ He said clearly.

She responded, “Well of course I hear you, Viktor.”

 _No, not that way. You are using your lips. Use your mind._ She heard him say quite clearly, but his lips weren’t moving. It was a very bizarre thing to witness.

She gaped. _This is impossible!_ Everything she had read had told her that reading minds – reading the actual, verbalized thoughts of the person across from you – was unachievable. The mind simply didn’t work in full sentences that another human being could understand, so it was more like reading impressions and thoughts. If you were skilled enough, you could dig into their subconscious, like she did with Draco. But this seemed… companionable. She was certain if Viktor hadn’t let her hear his thoughts, she would be unable to understand, and visa versa. A good way to think of it was as consensual, mutual legilimency, she decided, trying not to think about how that categorized other forms of legilimency.

_It is not impossible, Hermione. Just a well-kept secret._

Hermione instinctively brought her shields up at that, turning the rickety fence into a big, stone wall. She hoped that was the best way to keep him out. “Stop reading my thoughts!” She said defensively.

Viktor put his hands up in a sign of surrender, and even closed his eyes so she knew he wasn’t trying to perform legilimency on her. “I can only here vat you share vith me.” He said aloud. “Vich, by the vay, is very impressive. You vere very quick to pick it up. Are you a natural legilimens?”

Of course he would think that, since he knew she wasn’t wizard-raised. It was the only thing that made sense, since it was a bit unreasonable to believe she had started before getting to Hogwarts with her dentist parents. ‘No, just a hard worker _._ ’ She tried thinking to him in the same way she had thought before.

Nothing happened, and Hermione remembered she had upped her shields again. And suddenly, she was very glad she did. If she were to tell him she had trained in occlumency _and_ legilimency to the proficiency level she had achieved, he would never trust her. If he could only hear what she wanted him to hear, then she would be better off letting him think she was a precocious fifteen-year-old. And if he realized she was hiding something, she could give him an expendable secret: the time turner.

Keeping all of this in mind, and continuing to stuff her entire restricted section into the recesses of her memories, she relaxed her defenses. He would be able to hear her thoughts once more.

 _I’ve only read about occlumency and legilimency quite briefly. I tried to do some of the mental exercises involved in occlumency, but that’s all I’ve gotten around to._ She said, keeping every hint of deception from her face.

Talking like this was a bit like forming a spoken sentence. Much slower, like a trickling stream, than the usual current of her thought process – half formed, freely flowing, and not very clearly articulated at all. At least, not in a way that someone other than her would understand.

Krum smiled, satisfied, as if he had figured out some huge puzzle. _You are a natural, then. That is very rare, and very impressive indeed. I can tell you that occlumency is the practice of hiding one’s memories or intentions, and legilimency is the practice of revealing other’s secrets through force. This is neither, although it is classified as legilimency. I am only connecting to your mind through a mind-bond, and it is created when we both allow the other to hear._

 _So we’ve created a mental bond by speaking to one another this way?_ Hermione asked interestedly. _How does it work?_

Viktor rubbed the back of his neck, looking like he’d much rather not answer. _That is hard to answer. First, we must be legilimens and occlumens both. Then our minds must be compatible, in which we can connect with lowered shields without rebelling. And then, there must be a willingness to communicate and understand._

 _What does that mean, a willingness to understand? How does that affect the bond?_ Hermione questioned.

_Well, you may notice that I have no accent. In fact, I’m not even speaking English._

Hermione gasped. _That’s impossible._ She seemed to be saying a lot of that today. Thankfully, it was in-character for the innocent-Hermione persona she was selling to Viktor (and didn’t that just tickle her moral code). With that thought, she continued to shove any incriminating memories away. It wouldn’t do for them to influence her now.

 _Perhaps improbable, not impossible, my dear Hermione._ Viktor looked very smug. _The subconscious mind is an incredible place. How does a parslemouth understand the snake with whom he speaks? How does a Hyppogriff distinguish an insult from a compliment, although she does not understand language?_

“You’re saying our _minds_ are automatically translating for us? Then why can’t I understand _any_ language?” She asked aloud.

“You misunderstand, Hermyone, this is a magic based on villingly allowing others into the mind. It is qvite complex, I haff some trouble understanding myself.”

After hearing Viktor’s unaccented voice for so long, it was quite strange to hear it again, and Hermione had more trouble understanding him than she did since meeting him all those years ago. “So two legilimens connect their minds together in some sort of magical bond, and suddenly we can understand other languages? If I did the same with a parselmouth, could I then understand Parseltongue?”

Viktor met her eyes again, and that same feeling returned, a discomforting feeling like she was no longer alone. _You could, but only so long as you connect to their minds. We could maintain a connection for a short time, but without high compatibility we could not keep it open forever. Probably a few minutes at most. But the mind-bond creates more than just communication. It can affect the mind permanently._ That seemed just short of ridiculous to Hermione, and she waited for him to finish impatiently. _A part of my shields allows my friend, Nerida Harfang, to contact me within a certain distance. We are very compatible, since we have been friends for many years, and we have practiced this art together. I could contact her now, anywhere in the castle, if she were not in Svalbard._

Forgetting her earlier question entirely, Hermione asked, _this was the person under the invisibility cloak, wasn’t it?_ And the memories she wanted to hide were officially safe, locked in a sturdy silver safe and hidden in the darkest corners of her mind. Everything that made her _her,_ everything that differentiated her from fifteen-year-old innocent-Hermione, was hidden, so even if Viktor broke her trust and her defenses, he wouldn’t find her secret.

  _Well…_ Viktor looked supremely uncomfortable for some reason, and Hermione kept herself from tapping her foot in anticipation. _I have not been entirely honest with you, in that. It wasn’t Nerida, for she is too far._

_Then who was it?_

_No one. The person I would have asked, Lubovsky, was never there. I wanted you to feel pressured by someone else’s presence, but I hadn’t expected a real danger. You are only fifteen, after all._ She looked at him with a strange expression, and he continued quickly. _I hope this does not offend._

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at that, and her concentration broke. She felt another odd sensation, like something had snapped off from her very brain. She felt suddenly quite alone, like she had when she first got to Hogwarts. It was discomforting, if not debilitating, and she reached back out to Viktor to ask about it.

To her annoyance, she hit a huge wall, and ricocheted back into her mind, which spun dizzyingly. Her mind palace, once so pristinely ordered, seemed cluttered, confused, whispy, almost like she had neglected it for years.

“Vait,” he said, breaking eye contact so she couldn’t continue. “Ve should stop for today.”

“But I was really getting the hang of it!” Hermione complained. The loneliness she felt, that sort of empty feeling, didn’t help. Nor did the ringing in her head, and the wispiness of her memory palace. The longer she tried to look at her own mindscape, the more distorted it seemed.

Viktor looked at her stonily. “I realize this. You are very good indeed. Perhaps too good, vut I do not know vat other training you haff done for yourself, or how natural legilimency vorks. It is possible to move too qvickly. The subconscious vas not intended for these things, Hermione.” She blinked. This was the first time she had heard him say her name right, although he had been improving over time. “It took me four months to get to the place you are.” Viktor actually looked sullen at this, and she wondered if she had made him self-conscious in his own skill.

“I’m not seeing what the problem is.” She said. Surely quick progress was good? And it would solve the roaring headache she felt.

“The problem is vhy you are pushing to continue, Hermione. You may not haff realized, vut the vay the mind-bond affects the brain can be very damaging. If you continue, you risk losing your subconscious memories altogether.”

She reeled back, unwilling to believe what Viktor was saying. But if she thought about it, something felt odd. She seemed to have big gaps in her memories, and tried to remember what she had been doing even yesterday.

She had gone to the ball, hadn’t she? Then she had talked to Pavarti and Lavender till she fell asleep. And this morning, she had fought with Ron. Yes, that was it.

Then why did it feel like she was missing something?

“Hermione, may I ask you something?” Viktor interrupted her thoughts. She nodded absently, and he continued. “How long haff you studied occlumency?”

Occlumency? What a weird word. It seemed it was based off the Latin word for eye, or perhaps a word in ancient runes. She had read it somewhere. Oh yes, now she remembered. “It’s a mind art, I think, right?” she said tentatively. She had studied a bit of it, but it was more in idle interest than any real desire to learn. “I’ve learned a bit. Not for long, though,” she tacked onto the end, answering his original question.

Viktor sighed heavily. “Hermione. You haff secrets, I am avare. Vut you are meddling with magic you do not understand. Vatever you did vhile ve vere speaking, it has caused the memory to be erased. Perhaps others, if you haff utilized occlumency vithout realizing. You reached out to reconnect vith me because, vhen you vere vorking so hard to make a bond, it suppressed your own thoughts. It is common, ven students attempt multiple arts at vonce.”

She looked at him blankly, all of her considerable intellect failing to follow this train of thought. “Hermione, do you haff a secret you vant to keep from me?”

Immediately, she thought of the time turner hidden under her robes. The thoughts of that were fuzzy as well, but she was certain she had been using it this year to attend multiple classes at the same time. “Well- yes, Viktor, but I have to keep this from everyone. It’s not like I’m hiding it just from you.”

“And are you just now haffing problems remembering that secret?” He pried. She hesitated, wondering how he knew. That seemed to be all the answer he needed, for he gave another sigh. “I think now that I have made a mistake by teaching you so qvickly. I know how to fix this, but there is considerable pain involved. The missing memories haff been moved to your subconscious, and they must be released before you can remember everything.”

This seemed awfully familiar to Hermione, although she had no idea why. “What do you mean, pain?”

“Vell, there are two methods. Von is a process vich reqvires a master legilimens, vhom ve haff a short supply. Second is a much more… experimental method. So I must know, if you are avare of any master legilimens in your school.”

“I don’t… I don’t know, Viktor.” She said, but something discomforted her about that. “Hang on, I might. I’m not sure, really.”

“I know von. But he is a very dark vizard.” Her mind moved immediately to Karkaroff, who she, Ron, and Harry recently learned was a death eater, once upon a time.

“Karkaroff?” asked Hermione.

“-Severus Snape.” Viktor said at the same time.

“Sn- Professor Snape?” Hermione asked, dumbfounded. Actually, that sounded right. Why didn’t she remember Snape was a legilimens? She had learned it… sometime. She couldn’t remember when, or why. “Headmaster Dumbledore trusts him,” she said with certainty. Plus, in her four years at Hogwarts, Snape could be a right toad, but he was always helping them – even Harry, who he hated.

“He vorked vith Karkaroff, vack in the days of Voldemort.” Krum said with scorn. “And off on the same flimsy excuse as my headmaster. I vould rather help you myself, than let _him_ help you.”

For some reason, Hermione thought this was a very bad idea. But she didn’t want to upset Viktor, who she was still surprised had any interest in her at all. “What’s the other method?”

“Vell, I don’t vant to resort to this.” He hedged, looking uncomfortable. “Because it is not as safe as a master legilimens retrieving the memories. Vut I can, how vould you say it… break into your mind, and retrieve the memories? It vill hurt, however.”

She grit her teeth. “It already hurts. Viktor, I don’t know if this is the best idea. I’m really pleased, of course, that you want to help me learn, and that you’d help me fix it, but maybe we should do a bit more research first?”

He nodded. “Very vell, Hermione. I von’t make you do something you don’t vant.”

“Thank you, Viktor.” She got up, expecting to feel the soreness she was used to after sitting for a while – the unfortunate side-effects of being a sedentary bookworm – but got up with an unusual spring in her step. She flexed her muscles, which, last she checked, didn’t do much, and was surprised to find that her noodle legs were quite muscular indeed. She filed it away with the other mysteries of her forgotten memories. Had she unexpectedly taken up running, and that was yet another memory she had forgotten?

Viktor offered to walk her back to Gryffindor tower, but she declined. She wanted to be alone, just now. And to Hermione, the place to be alone was the library, not where she’d be expected to gossip with Lavender and Pavarti.

It was odd, she used to scoff at their frivolities and downright shun them, but something made her change her tune this year. Intuition, perhaps? A whim? But they were almost at a point she would consider friends, albeit not very close ones, and she couldn’t figure out just how it happened. Her mind was quite muddled, and as she walked back to the castle, she analyzed the gaps in her memory as much as one could when they had a terrible headache. She only wished she could remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This chapter took more time to edit than I've ever taken for fanfic. It's a convoluted storyline, so let me know if you don't understand what's going on, I'll go back and make it more clear.
> 
> Communicative Legilimency is a term of my creation, but the original idea comes from "The Problem with Purity" - Phoenix.Writing calls it "mindspeak." It's on FFN and Ashwinder, and I definitely recommend it.


	47. Chapter 46 - The Other Granger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione discovers that she's been keeping some very strange habits.

Hermione’s hours in the library were unfortunately ineffective, and she returned to her room unsatisfied. On the plus side, her headache had receded somewhat, so she was thinking more clearly. Or as clearly as one could with apparently tons of memory loss.

She said goodnight to Pavarti and Lavender, who were very sympathetic to her earlier fight with Ron – and now that she thought about it, she was much angrier than she had been just hours ago. It finally set in how rude he had been! The girls let her be for the night, which suited Hermione just fine. She wasn’t in a mood to deal with their silliness tonight.

Her mind raced with thoughts of the year, Harry’s upcoming challenge for the next task, the conversations he had with Sirius about someone trying to get to him through the tournament. Sirius was another fuzzy spot in her memory, but she brushed that off in favor of thinking about Harry. It was all very worrisome, and Hermione realized she hadn’t given it enough thought recently. Where had her mind been? She should be researching old death eaters that got away, the enchantments on the goblet. Find suspects who could’ve put his name in the goblet. And at that, she needed to make sure Harry was working on his egg.

She still had a few days of holiday left, and that would give her a chance to catch up on all these pesky problems. But first, she had one more book to check.

She finally remembered where she had read the word “occlumency” – it was in _Unfogging the Future,_ the Divination textbook from Hermione’s previous year at Hogwarts. She thought they mentioned it being a dark skill that could severely limit the Inner Eye. Hermione had read the whole textbook before getting to school, of course, or she would’ve seen that as more of a challenge than a warning.

She had to fiddle with her trunk for a moment. The lock didn’t seem to be opening for her. She was almost about to give it up as a bad job, when it clicked open, seeming laughably easy. She saw the most peculiar array of items. The books, she was mostly expecting (although she had somehow acquired a copy of _Most Potente Potions_ , the book she used to brew Polyjuice two years ago). It was the number of potions vials, parchments, runic arrays, and magical knickknacks she didn’t recognize.

What had she been _doing?_ Whatever memories “she” had hidden – and she was starting to refer to the memories of her lost self as “Other-Hermione” – must have been very damning indeed! She looked in a small wooden box, only to find neatly labeled hairs, listing names such as, “Draco Malfoy,” “Albus Dumbledore,” and “Severus Snape.” The vials, which were more littered about than the organized hairs, included helpful tags naming them as, “Memory-Locker,” “Polyjuice,” and “Thanalos.” That last one was a Class A restricted potion, with side-effects that reminded her of cocaine withdrawal. Other-Hermione had gotten into something far messier than was morally sound, or more importantly, legal.

She picked up the bottle labeled Memory-Locker, idly wondering what it was used for. It was the only thing in the trunk she had no reference for. Even the books, however obscure they could be, had recognizable titles. She was disappointed to find that _Unfogging the Future_ hadn’t been one of them, but she did find a text titled, _Mastering the Mind,_ by Leonardo Oppulo, and decided to spend the rest of her evening reading it cover-to-cover.

But she had barely gotten through the first chapter when she realized she was reading the same sentence over and over again. For it had been a very long day, and her eyes had grown very heavy…

_Hermione was in her parents car, riding over a bridge. She looked eagerly over the sides of the bridge, like she had when she was younger, and saw a sparkling, bubbling brook. It was beautiful, and she was transfixed watching it._

_Her parents were in the front seat, looking very old indeed. Gray had taken over their hair, and Hermione could see stress wrinkles where there had been smooth skin before. She looked down at her own hands, which sported nicely trimmed nails and lacked their usual ink splotches. It must have been summer, then. Her hands looked bigger, though. Like her mum’s hands. An adults hands. And she realized that she was holding her wand, fiddling with it nervously._

_Hermione didn’t speak to her parents the entire car ride. They seemed a bit strained, too, like they weren’t looking forward to getting wherever they were going._

_She continued looking at the brook, which oddly seemed to follow the road very closely. When she looked back up, they were at home in the outskirts of London._

_Hermione was standing behind her parents, who were waiting for her to take tea with them in the living room. But instead of going to her favorite chair, as she normally would, Hermione continued to fiddle with her wand, passing it back and forth between her hands. And then, almost as if it wasn’t her doing it, she heard herself say:_

_“Obliviate.” She said, and the blood rushed through her ears at the strength of the spell._

Hermione woke up sweating, panting, and altogether panicked. What a _horrible_ dream! She had been older, just home from school, and she had obliviated her parents. It was the stuff of nightmares. She drank from the glass of water beside her bed, and the glass shook in her hand.

It was a dream, that was all. A bad dream, but a dream nonetheless. Hermione glanced at the book that had now fallen on the floor. The words _Mastering the Mind_ glinted at her in the morning light. It had been a dream… she hoped.

Hermione forced herself to get up and get ready for the day, and resolved to put the thought out of her mind. She didn’t have any reason to believe she had obliviated her parents, so she wouldn’t dwell on it. Instead, she went to the bathroom to shower away the thought. Showering was something that brought her peace. She had a lot of ah-ha moments in the shower before, especially since Hogwarts had an unlimited supply of hot water.

But as she undressed, she noticed a long, mottled thing resting on her skin. She moved toward the mirror, staring in abject horror at whatever had stuck itself to her stomach. It looked like a rope, or a barbed whip, that had been fused with skin. She touched it very tentatively, and it _stung_.

Shaking her head and feeling slightly disturbed, she cast a freshening charm and forwent the shower. There was no way she was going to mess with that. Maybe a trip to Madam Pomfrey was in order, for Other-Hermione led a much more exciting life than she expected. How had she gotten this injury? Why did she have such a hard time remembering over half of her fourth year? What were the potions, the hairs, and the odd books doing in her trunk?

If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought someone had obliviated her and taken her place, like Lockheart had with his books. But no, if she was being replaced, she wouldn’t have any memories of the events, and she could remember bits and pieces just fine.

Plus, Krum had said she must’ve been trying to hide a secret. What secrets did she have, apart from the time turner? She liked to think of herself as an open book, if anyone actually cared to ask her about herself.

She was so busy thinking of the strange happenings of her life in the last twelve hours, that she had forgotten about how rude Ron had been to her yesterday. So when the _entire_ common room turned to look at her, she shrunk in on herself. Had they seen her scar? What were they thinking? She stood in the doorway to the girl’s dormitory, immobile. Finally, Harry caught her eye, and he waved her over. Thank Merlin he did, for she was certain she would’ve stayed there forever.

She walked over to Harry jerkily, and sat down in the plush seat next to him. “Hey Hermione,” Harry said gently. “Are you okay?” He was talking about Ron insulting her, of course, but her mind immediately went to the strange mysteries she had been uncovering from Other-Hermione.

Hermione didn’t know how to answer him, so she just nodded.

“Look,” Harry ruffled his hair. “Ron’s my best mate, and all, but he’s being a right git right now.”

She snorted. “You don’t say?”

“Yeah, well, I told him that he should apologize for treating a friend that way, and _he_ said you should apologize too.” He looked uncomfortable. Hermione was touched by his thoughtfulness, however, for it had taken a lot of growth for him to even start a conversation about something so sensitive. “I- erm, I disagreed. I don’t really think you did anything worth apologizing for.”

Hermione forced herself to smile back at him, although it was a brittle smile. “Ron’s not really known for his tact, Harry. Don’t worry about it. You really should be worrying about the second task, instead.”

Harry’s head snapped up at that. “But it’s not for two months!”

“Regardless, you’re going to need time to figure out the egg, and after that you’ll have to plan! What have you done so far?” Hermione jumped in, tackling the new problem. She tried not to think that it stank of escapism, dealing with someone else’s problems instead of her own.

“Hermione, it’s the holidays. We just got done with the Yule Ball. Can’t we just take a break?”

Something in his expression kept her from fighting him on this, so she let it drop. “How’s Si- er, Snuffles?” She asked instead.

“He’s good, I’ve been keeping him up to date about everything about Hogwarts. He still doesn’t trust Karkaroff, or Krum. Actually, he said he wants to talk to you about Krum, see if you learned anything about him during the ball.”

Hermione frowned hard. She knew she had a way to contact Sirius, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember. Something to do with reflections? Mirrors? Not wanting to share her memory loss with Harry, who she was certain would blame Viktor, she nodded absently at him. “I’ll talk to him later. I’ve got to go-“

“-To the library?” Harry asked, laughing. “Go ahead.”

She smiled that false, brittle smile once more, and practically ran out the portrait-hole. That had convinced her to seek help. She didn’t want whatever experimental methods Viktor was planning. He was a nice boy, but she didn’t exactly trust his judgement. No, she had to choose: Madam Pomfrey, or Professor Snape? She _could_ try finding Professor Dumbledore, but she had never talked to the man one-on-one since first year. It would be intimidating, to say the least. The fact that Professor Snape had been a Death Eater, well that was enough to push her towards Madam Pomfrey.

She took her time getting there, realizing that because of the early hour, Madam Pomfrey might be sleeping. But her concerns were unfounded: the healer was already up and attending to another student – a fifth year who had contracted Dragon Pox. “What seems to be the trouble, dear?” Madam Pomfrey bustled over, already casting a few charms to diagnose her.

“I- well, I’m having some memory problems.” She said. “And I’ve got this big scar, but I haven’t an idea of what it could be from.”

“Memory problems, you say? What kind of memory problems?”

Hermione hesitated. She didn’t want to get Viktor in trouble. He didn’t intend for her to get stuck without half her memories of the year, after all. He had been trying to help her.

She must’ve hesitated too long, for Pomfrey spoke again, “I want to assure you that I have taken a Healer’s Oath to keep anything to myself so long as it doesn’t threaten you or others. Whatever has happened, I am duty-bound to keep it secret.”

At that, she couldn’t help but spill the entire story to a sympathetic Madam Pomfrey. She knew she was blubbering, but it had all become too much to handle. The matron ended up taking her into her office, pouring her a strong cup of tea, and listening very sympathetically to her tale.


	48. Chapter 47 - Which Witch is This?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rita Skeeter publishes an article, Hermione talks to Poppy Pomfrey, and Draco Malfoy acts very odd.

Hermione told Madam Pomfrey _almost_ everything about her experiences in the last twenty-four hours. It was an awkward thing, to admit that she had been breaking _many_ school rules to an authority figure, but Pomfrey didn’t bat an eyelash.

“Now tell me, Miss Granger, what happened in the clearing again?”

Hermione sighed. It was the third time Pomfrey had asked her for her account, and she knew it was probably to see if she was gaining back her memories with each retelling. But she was certain she was not. “I remember leaving the castle with my… friend, who wanted to teach me something. We sat in a clearing together and… my friend taught me how to talk mentally. He called it Communicative Legilimency, and he reckoned I was probably a natural, since I could pick it up so quickly, but we had barely learned how to keep a conversation going when he told me to stop, saying that I might’ve buried some of my memories.”

“And do you remember why you consented to this?” Madam Pomfrey asked calmly.

Hermione paused. A fly buzzed around her head, and she swiped it away absently. From what she remembered, she had apparently agreed to go with Viktor before because he had discovered a secret of hers, and she went both to learn a new skill and to keep him from telling on her. If only she could remember what her own secret was! It hadn’t been the time turner, she didn’t think. But then again, could anything she thought be trusted anymore? “Erm… not entirely.” Hermione said. “Oh, but he did tell me there were two methods to fix it. One of them required a master legilimens, and the other was a bit dodgy sounding.”

“I have heard of two mind-healing methods that may match your friend’s plans.” She said tightly. “The second method is much less precise; it may end with the total erasure of those memories instead of their restoration. Unfortunately, I am not a mind healer, much less a master legilimens. I will not be able to fix this ailment like I could a physical one.” Hermione’s heart fell, hope whittling away into nothingness in her stomach. She was so _certain_ that going to Madam Pomfrey would solve everything, like she had two years ago with Hermione’s Polyjuice mistake. “Ah, hope is not lost, however. We just so happen to have a master legilimens on staff.”

“Professor Snape?” She asked immediately, then slapped a hand over her mouth for interrupting.

“Why, yes, acutally, but not the one I was thinking of. How did you know that?” Pomfrey replied.

Hermione reddened slightly. “My friend told me.”

“The same _friend_ who lured you out into the forbidden forest and erased your memories?” She challenged. “Don’t dwell on it, Miss Granger, at least not until you can remember why you agreed to this in the first place. I must ask the name of the friend you speak of  Now I will have to consult with the headmaster before anything else can be done. Do you think you can perform in your classes?”

Hermione thought back to her courses, and besides a disturbing lack of concentration she paid to her courses in recent memory, she couldn’t think of anything _missing._ It was like there were holes in her mind; the moment she tried to remember, all she could feel was an emptiness lurking in the back of her mind. It was as if she reached for a book, just to find that all the important bits were missing. She had the footnotes, the introduction, and a few pages in the middle, but the actual words were just… gone. But her classes hadn’t been like that, not even the ones she went back to repeat (although she couldn’t remember actually _going back in time,_ for whatever reason).

“I’ll be okay, Madam Pomfrey,” she said finally. And she knew she would: this wasn’t even in the top five of crazy, life-altering things she’d experienced in the last few years. What was a little memory loss in comparison to being hospitalized as a half-cat for weeks, or being flat-out petrified for half a term?

She nodded. “You’re a strong girl, Miss Granger. I trust you remember our conversation from the beginning of the year?”

“I’m afraid I don’t, Madam Pomfrey.” She clenched her eyes shut, trying to remember meeting the matron earlier in the year. Another blank.

“Not to worry, dear. I will send for you when we have an answer. Unless anything is physically ailing you?”

Hermione thought about the large scar that crossed her stomach. She looked up into Pomfrey’s eyes and did something she’d never done before: lied directly to an authority figure. “No, nothing.”

* * *

The next few days, which included New Years and the first day back to classes, passed with no word from Pomfrey. She was able to spend most of her time reading _Mastering the Mind,_ which was a very very thick tome. There wasn’t a single reference to “communicative legilimency,” and if Madam Pomfrey hadn’t shown some familiarity with it, she would be tempted to believe that Viktor made it up.

She didn’t know quite how to feel about Viktor. On one hand, she had been very certain he hadn’t meant to hurt her. But the few memories she still did have included one where he cornered her in the rosebushes during the Yule Ball. The same emptiness returned to her, blocking her train of thought in it’s tracks whenever she tried to remember what they had talked about.

This happened about many memories, where she would remember what she’d been talking about or thinking about, before the whole scene simply went blank. But she wasn’t Hermione Granger for nothing. She’d already pieced together that Other-Hermione was grossly overusing the Time Turner. In fact, she did remember the conversation with Madam Pomfrey earlier that year. She remembered feeling very anxious that Pomfrey wanted to use a diagnosis charm, and used the charm on herself to check how much Other-Hermione aged herself.

That was when Hermione started really questioning Other-Hermione, when she realized that she had aged whopping two years. She was an adult, legally. And anyone who’d cast a diagnosis charm on her would . And now, those two extra years were gone, erased. She felt like a spy who had been living a double-life. But spies didn’t forget their own other lives, like she had forgotten Other-Hermione’s memories.

But even her thoughts of memory-loss were overshadowed by what happened on Tuesday morning. Rita Skeeter, the woman who had written about Harry for the Triwizard Tournament, was back.

The prophet landed in front of her, and Hermione gave it a silver sickle and a bit of her bacon. She picked up the paper, idly looking at whatever tripe they’d come up with. And then she promptly dropped the paper.

“HARRY POTTER’S SECRET HEARTACHE” blazed across the top of the page. Bloody hell, she took back everything she said about Rita Skeeter being harmless. That woman was a menace.

* * *

Hermione was pacing along the aisles of the library, totally absorbed in her anger. She couldn’t _believe_ that Skeeter woman – implying that she was firstly dating Harry, then two-timing him with Viktor. What was more, she was implying that both she and Viktor were dark wizards plotting against the Boy-Who-Lived. What utter rubbish! It was infuriating, and she was determined to make her pay.

To add insult to injury, one of her least favorite people in the world was approaching.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” A voice said out of the blue. No provocation, no warning, and Draco Bloody Malfoy was waltzing up to her, newspaper in hand.

“Malfoy, I’m too busy for your childish games. Go away.” She said coldly. She really didn’t want to see one of the biggest prats in the school, especially one that would make fun of her for the stupid, _stupid_ article.

Malfoy cocked his head oddly. Well, odd for Malfoy, because it didn’t seem _normal_ for him to be looking at her with anything but a sneer on his face. He was… smiling. More of a smirk, maybe, but it was a smile nonetheless. “Ah, I’m sorry for disturbing the Great Hermione Jane Granger, researcher extraordinaire, while she’s reading. Although I’ve got to say, it looks more like you’re fit to be tied more than busy. What are you researching?”

Hermione stared at him blankly. Malfoy was being decidedly un-Malfoy-like. Was this another element of her amnesia? Or just another tactic to get a rise out of her? Maybe Malfoy had teamed up with Snape, and the moment she cast a bloody jelly legs or bat bogey at him she’d be in detention till she died.

“C’mon, spill. It’s gotta be something interesting if it’s got you in this much of a tizzy.” He surprised her again. His voice had lost some of it’s posh-ness. Or something. It was definitely odd, and Hermione wasn’t in the mood for odd.

“If you must know, I’m researching magical forms of bugging. And I’m not in a _tizzy.”_ She spat. “You know, I never see you in here.” She gestured to the library, and grew a smirk of her own. “I bet you’ve never heard of half the spells I could use to _make_ you shut up. But this one will do: _silencio!”_

Malfoy was ready, though, and dodged her spell. It bounced harmlessly off of a book, fizzling out. “Ok, Mione, this ruse has gone too far. What are you on about?”

Hermione snarled in anger, only barely managing to stay quiet in the still library. “What are _you_ on about? I am done with your Slytherin games, Malfoy! And _don’t call me that again._ ” She hated being called Mione. Only Ron was able to call her that without a withering glare, and maybe a smack upside the head if it was Harry.

Malfoy, thankfully, didn’t seem to have a response to that. Instead, he looked her in the eye for far too long. She suddenly remembered punching him in the face last year – and what a proud moment it was for her, and the time he had been turned into a ferret. That really took the cake. What had Ron called him? Draco Malfoy, the Amazing Bouncing Ferret?

She broke off Malfoy’s stare, and huffed angrily. “Stay away from me, Ferret.”

Hermione ran off quick as she could after that, happy to forget the bizarre happenstance. Malfoy, calling her ‘Mione’ and asking her about her research – what game was he playing? It honestly seemed too intelligent for him. Whatever skill his father had at manipulation and cunning had clearly skipped a generation.

Angry at the entire turn of events, Hermione returned to the common room. Hopefully she could talk to Harry and have a good laugh at the article together. What a load of tosh.

* * *

The next days passed much quicker than Hermione was used to. Maybe it was the lack of an extra three hours for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, but the holiday flew by. She stayed cooped up in Gryffindor tower, avoiding the distrustful and sometimes jealous stares from the majority of the school. Going to the ball with the most famous boy in school – barring Harry, maybe – was bound to make a few people jealous. If only they knew what Viktor was _really_ like.

Hermione had a lot of time to contemplate it, and she decided to break things off with Viktor. His heart was in the right place, but he was so much older than her, so much more advanced in magic, that it was _dangerous_. It had already resulted in a few lost memories. She wished it didn’t have to be so, but Hermione’s brain was her greatest asset. She wasn’t risking the loss of even more memories to a boy.

And all too soon, classes were resuming. People sniggered at her behind her back, during lunches and in the halls when she couldn’t avoid them. She was taking the stoicism tactic, which had an unfortunate side effect of grating at the nerves after a while. It was hard to ignore the stares, but she had Harry at her side. Friends made everything better.

Of course, Harry was getting his own stares and whispers, but even Harry couldn’t protect her from the strangest response: Draco Bleeding Malfoy had been staring at her all week. He had a little frown on his face as he did, almost a pout. She studiously avoided his gaze, although it almost itched at her skin with it’s intensity. And he was very successful at avoiding him, all the way up until Potions.

Hermione loved potions, despite the nastiness of the professor. And like always, Professor Snape didn’t fail to dish out.


	49. Chapter 48 - Limbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione recovers some missing links.

When Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked into double potions on Friday, they knew it was bound to be a painful day. Snape looked as if he was on the warpath, glaring daggers at all the Gryffindor’s in the room. When Harry dared to whisper to Neville, asking what Asphodel was, she started to understand the reason Professor Snape was so very angry.  

“Potter, four years in my class still has not taught you any distinguishing elements of Asphodel, and would stoop to asking Longbottom for help, I’m afraid there is absolutely no hope for you. Fame, as I’ve always said, is not everything.” Snape tut-tutted at their table, smirking evilly as he saw all of them bristle.

Hermione frowned at Snape. As much as she wanted to respect all the professors at school, he was one of the most difficult people she had ever met!

Harry sat up in his seat to respond, and she put a comforting hand on his arm. “Let it go.” She whispered to him, desperately hoping he would take her advice. “Just ignore him.” She felt as though her entire year thus far had been telling Harry to “just ignore” all sorts of things around the school. She remembered the night Harry’s name came out of the goblet – having Ron turn away from him really was one of the worst things that had happened all year, and he hadn’t come back to them until the first task-

But hang on, that hadn’t happened at all! No, Ron stood up for Harry in the Great Hall, he even yelled out that it was a mistake. Why did she have two sets of memories? She would’ve blamed the time turner, but that didn’t change history, just make it come to pass. No, there was something very wrong. She tried to think of that night, to let it play out in her head, but she couldn’t reconcile the two histories-

Two reactions, two amazingly different outcomes. Two reactions from Ron, and the whole year changed. And now that she thought about it, the rest of the year hinged on that moment, and as she tried to grasp at one of them, they both played out in her mind. The “potter stinks!” badges that Malfoy made, sneaking out to see Sirius in the cave…

Then she remembered the weird conversation she had with Malfoy before. He had been almost cordial compared to the insults and slander he’d spread about Harry. Even Malfoy turning into a ferret had two memories, two directly opposing histories. Because Sirius wasn’t living in a cave. Sirius talked to Harry through a conversation mirror. And… hadn’t Hermione given a mirror to him? And made up the idea? Hermione’s mind started to go into overdrive, trying to remember what was real. Sirius was either in a cave or in Berlin. Ron defended or derided Harry after he got put in the Triwizard Tournament.

Hermione dropped the pestle she was using to powder lacewing flies. It clattered to the ground, stone on stone. If she had been looking up, she would’ve noticed the entire classroom looking at her, but she was clutching her head. It was all she could do not to throw up, as the memories swirled underneath her eyelids like a monstrous typhoon. She heard a strange sound, like a kettle reaching boil, before a voice cut through and it stopped abruptly.

“Miss Granger, cease this at once!”

Hermione lifted her head slightly. It was heavy, and she couldn’t help but let it back down to the table with a _thud_.

“Miss Granger. Look at me.” She heard again. That was a familiar voice. She knew that voice. That was Sev- no. Snape. She opened her eyes a crack, and thankfully the flood of memories receded slightly.

Where was Snape? All she could see was a blackness, and the blurry gray in the corners of her vision. She lifted her head higher, and realized that the blackness was Professor Snape’s robe. Ah, and the gray was the stone walls. Snape looked very grim for some reason, and Hermione met his eyes – the eyes could tell you how angry he was, and if she’d be getting detention.

“Class is dismissed.” Snape snarled. Hermione didn’t move, although everyone around her was scraping out of their chairs and packing up. The fuzzy gray spots hadn’t left her vision yet, and her body felt very heavy. It was easier to sit, she thought. 

“But Professor, we haven’t finished our Wit-Sharpening Potions!” Said a voice that was disturbingly like Malfoy’s. Between the haziness of her vision to the twisting and churning of her stomach, it may as well have been Albus Dumbledore.

Something must’ve occurred between them, but suddenly arms were grabbing Hermione and pulling her upward. “Hermione, you alright?” That was Ron, if his twiggy frame had anything to say about it. Her world tumbled upside down, and she clutched at her stomach. The gray spots were worse, now.

“Unhand her this instant, you imbecilic buffoon,” snapped Snape. “Everyone, _out!”_

The remaining students rushed to get away from the angry professor, but Harry and Ron stayed where they were. “She needs the hospital wing.” Said Ron firmly.

“Nonsense, I am perfectly aware of what is wrong with her. Leave, Weasley.”

Ron started shouting, and Hermione couldn’t tell quite what was going on. It sounded like they were fighting over where to take her. Well, Hermione would love to be in a hospital wing bed right now, but she couldn’t really imagine getting there.

But she didn’t have to do anything, it turned out. Suddenly, the world became very floaty, and she was being carried somewhere. Why did this feel so familiar? She opened her eyes a sliver and saw only a wall of black. _Well, no reason to worry about that,_ she thought, and shut her eyes for good.

* * *

Hermione awoke in a bed. She groaned and opened her eyes. The ceiling was white. The walls were white, and the bed she was on was white. She looked down at her hands, and they were pale, too. Like she hadn’t had blood circulating for too long.

Madam Pomfrey bustled over. “Oh good dear, you’re awake. Excellent. What is the last thing you remember?”

Hermione looked at her blankly, noting the white in her uniform. She really had to talk to them about the color scheme. “Blackness.” She croaked, for it was truly the last thing she saw. “I think… potions?”

“Very good, Miss Granger. What potion were you making when you became incapacitated?”

“Wit-Sharpening. I was doing the lacewing flies.” She said. Her mouth seemed very far away from her, and she mouthed the words like they were strangers. “I remember being confused, really confused. And then I got the most horrible headache.” Hermione rubbed at her forehead as if it were going to come back. Her arms felt rubbery.

“Professor Snape brought you here, do you remember talking to him?”

Hermione shook her head slowly. “No. I can’t. Oh no, did I really forget that? What happened?” She started to sit up. What if she’d said something rude to him? He was a nasty person, but he was still her teacher. She needed to apologize.

Pomfrey gently guided her back onto her bed. A good thing too, because Hermione’s head was already spinning. “Miss Granger, you must calm down. I believe the gaps in your memory today are connected to your recent memory loss. I’ve taken the liberty of contacting Professor Moody to help you combat this-”

“Professor Moody?” Hermione cut in, surprised.

“He is a master legilimens, and he will be able to discover whether there was foul play between you and your… friend, leading to your memory loss.” As she spoke, Madam Pomfrey continued to bustle around Hermione, casting diagnosis charms and handing her potions, which she dutifully drank.

“Professor Moody is a master legilimens?” Hermione said. She remembered Professor Snape was a legilimens, Viktor had told her. But Professor Moody, now that was a surprise. And an unwelcome one, if she was honest. He gave her the heebie-jeebies, although she couldn’t put her finger on why that was.

Pomfrey nodded. “Yes, and he will be here immediately following the end of the school day. We’re very concerned about you, Miss Granger. Headmaster Dumbledore asked to speak with you, but of course after you’re healed.” Hermione’s lips parted in a gasp. Professor Dumbledore wanted to talk to her! _Her,_ Hermione Granger! “Now Miss Granger, drink this,” she handed over a small vial, “you should rest before Professor Moody arrives. There now, drink up.”

And for the second time that day, Hermione’s world went very black.

* * *

“I must insist you take a look at her.” Hermione heard very distantly.

“This isn’t part of my job description, Albus. I’m here to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, not mend the minds of stupid teenage girls.”

She opened her eyes. White, white, white surrounded her on every side. Ah, yes, she was in the hospital wing.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her. Why don’t you do it?” The voice sounded gruff and uncomfortable. “Not to mention, it’s illegal. I’ve already bent enough laws for you, Albus, I’m not keen on doing it again.”

“I’m afraid I lack your talent for legilimency, Alastor.” That was definitely Dumbledore, Hermione realized. His voice seemed old and defeated, weary. “As we have discussed at length before. I must insist, old friend, that you help heal her memories. This could very well be related to Voldemort’s growing strength. Who knows what she stumbled upon?”

“Use your pet Potions Master, Albus. I thought he was your choice for reconnaissance.”

There was silence for a very long moment, and Professor Dumbledore finally answered, “You know why I have picked you for this task, Alastor.”

“Very well, Albus.” She heard the other voice – Alastor – say. Oh yes, Alastor was Professor Moody’s first name. Hermione got that same queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Honestly, she would prefer Professor Dumbledore digging through her memories if anyone had to do it. She’d even prefer Snape at this point! At least she knew he was trustworthy.

  _Professor Moody is one of Dumbledore’s oldest friends._ She thought. _He wouldn’t put you in danger, Hermione. Get a grip!_

“Miss Granger!” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “May we enter?”

Hermione nodded, then realized he couldn’t see past the curtains surrounding her hospital bed.

“She said yes,” said Professor Moody. He must’ve used his magical eye to see through the curtains, which really made them pointless in hindsight. Perhaps that was why Hermione didn’t trust him. Who would trust a man that could see through anyone’s clothing? It was a breach of privacy!

Although, that breach of privacy was nothing compared to what was about to occur. Professor Moody was going to enter her mind to try and fix her memories, so she no longer had any gaps.

Almost in response to her thoughts, Professor Dumbledore swept the curtain aside. “Ah, yes. Good evening, Miss Granger. I’m sorry to hear about your memory loss.” Hermione didn’t quite know how to respond, so she simply nodded. “Professor Moody has come at my request to help you solve these gaps in your memory. We will be using an art called legilimency, which Madam Pomfrey informed me you have some experience with.”

He said this very cheerfully, but Hermione could see an underlying question under the statement. He was wondering where she had picked up an art like legilimency. It certainly wasn’t part of the curriculum at Hogwarts. Again, she chose to stay silent.

“Alright, Dumbledore, stop tip-toeing around the subject. Miss Granger, I will need your spoken permission to use legilimency on you, even though it shouldn’t be happening at _all_ , as you are a minor.” The last bit was directed at Professor Dumbledore with a venom she had only heard him use concerning the dark arts.

She realized they were waiting for her answer, so swallowed her discomfort and managed a, “Y-yes, you have my permission.”

“Excellent!” Professor Dumbledore clapped his hands.

Moody came to stand above her, a stark contrast to the white of the hospital wing. “Alright, Miss Granger. I’m going to need you to keep your eyes open, and look at me.”

She did so, looking up guilelessly. Her brain was still a bit fuzzy, and she wondered if the legilimency would even work.

“ _Legilimens!”_ He said, and her world went dark.

* * *

_Hermione was in a box. A wooden box, if she was correct. The grooves in the wood were old, weathered by time. She looked for an exit, but nothing stuck out._

_So instead, she looked around the box, looking for something to entertain herself. Perhaps a book?_

_But she didn’t have a chance to find a book, for there was a knock on the door._

_There was a door? Then maybe this wasn’t a box, but a house. A very small house, a cottage really. There wasn’t much in it, that was for sure._

_The knock got louder, but Hermione didn’t want to answer. Something told her it was a_ bad idea _, and Hermione had always trusted her instincts._

_“Who is it?” She asked instead, walking up to the door. It didn’t have a peephole._

_“Miss Granger?” A voice said. “Is that you?”_

_“Yes, who is this?” She replied. Something felt very bizarre about the cottage she was in, and the voice at the door. It didn’t feel… real._

_“Will you let me in?”_

_Hermione did_ not _want to let the voice in. This was her cottage, and she wasn’t going to let just anyone in! But it wasn’t very polite to say so. “I can’t. There’s no doorknob.” She lied._

_“Dammit!” The voice sounded angry now. “I’ll break it down then!”_

_The knocking, which had never really stopped, turned into a pound. It reverberated through the door, through the cottage, through her head. She decided she did not like that voice. The voice needed to go._

_“Goodbye, voice,” Hermione said calmly. Somehow she knew that if she were to swipe away the voice, it would leave. So she brought her hand close to the door, and backhanded it. The pounding stopped. The knocking was gone, and the cottage returned to normal, albeit very dark._

_From her cottage, for it truly was a cottage and not a box, Hermione was very alone. No more voice and no more pounding. But then the voice came back, very distantly._

“--- can’t breach it, Albus. I’m afraid you’re going to have to use your Death Eater after all --- know his particular form of legilimency might hurt --- works.”

“Very well, I will call for --- she stable?”

“Yes, I ---”

“A door, you say? With no knob? Why---"

_Hermione shook her head, and banished those voices too. She liked her cottage how it was, thank-you-very-much._

_But another voice cut through, a completely different one from the last two._

_The knock at the door was crisp, polite. “Hermione?” The new voice said. “Are you there?”_

_She knew this voice._

_“Severus?” She couldn’t remember anything else about this ‘Severus,’ but that name was familiar. Trusted._

_“Yes, you foolish girl. May I come in?”_

_“There’s no doorknob,” she said dumbly, for the doorknob had disappeared when she didn’t want the other voice coming in._

_“Then_ make _a doorknob.”_

_Oh yes, she could do that. Hermione waved her hand and the doorknob reappeared. Another wave of her hand and the door was unlocked. “Come on in!” she said cheerfully, sitting by the fire. Had there been a fire before? She wasn’t certain. At least it lit up the door, and she saw a dark figure come in._

_“Severus!” she said. The moment he crossed the threshold, she knew exactly who Severus was._

_Severus Snape, potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Her school. She was a fourth-year – but not a normal one, no, she was a time traveler. She and Draco Malfoy came back in time from the year 2000. She was Hermione Jean Granger, a mentally twenty-five-year-old, physically seventeen-year-old witch. And she was a bloody idiot._

_“Oh Merlin, Severus. I forgot_ everything!”

Hermione woke with a start, running her head straight into Severus’s forehead. “Ouch…” She muttered. But the pain that created was nothing like the pounding in her skull. “Shit, I’m sorry.” She said to Severus, but he shot her a look.

“Language, Miss Granger!” She heard, and Poppy bustled over. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I just got run over by a rampaging hippogriff. But I’m fine, Madam Pomfrey. I remember everything now.”

And she did. Hermione was keenly aware of her memories, her recent actions, and the general _stupidity_ that she had recently entertained. She shared a look with Severus, who seemed to know exactly where her thoughts were. He didn’t look angry at _her_ , per say, but she could see that he was quietly fuming.

“Were you successful, Severus?” Dumbledore said mildly.

“I was.” He answered. “You should’ve come to me immediately, Albus. She had gone into a mental lockdown. Suppression of memories due to improper occlumency training. Something only a master of _both_ arts would be able to overcome.” The whole time, he held Hermione’s gaze. She said nothing, but he understood.

They needed to give Dumbledore a believable, acceptable story. She had an absolute _disaster_ to deal with in her own mind, and that wasn’t even including the fallout from Crouch _invading her mind!_ Who knew what he saw? She wasn’t exactly a good occlumens at the age of fourteen (or seventeen, physically. But the mind that Moody dove into was her _fourteen-year-old_ mind.)

It was a mess. It might even be an irreversible error. The blood rushed through her ears as she contemplated the consequences.

Dumbledore and Snape had been speaking, but she was busy planning her next moves. Well, they could tell him a very modified version of the truth. Hermione was experimenting with legilimency with Viktor Krum – who shouldn’t be penalized at all for his actions, for she needed him to stay as a champion – and she made a misstep with the occlumency, leading to some suppressed memories. Nothing important, nothing related to Voldemort, just things she’d rather keep secret from Viktor. Like her feelings for him, or Harry’s plan for the second task. Basic, harmless secrets of a teenage girl.

She would probably get in trouble for being out of bounds, attempting magic above her level – that was fine. With any luck, she would be put in detention with Severus, and they’d be able to scrap up a plan together.

“Miss Granger?” Dumbledore said kindly. “Are you quite alright?”

Both Severus and Dumbledore were looking at her. They must’ve asked a question, and she had been too wrapped up in her thoughts to hear it. “Yes, Professor. I’m fine.” She said, the lie sliding off of her tongue like water off a bridge.

“Very good. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that you’ve broken many school rules today.” He said seriously, looking over his half-moon spectacles at her. “I realize that you’re almost an adult, especially with your… extracurricular activities-“ he looked at her time turner, and Hermione remembered that only he, Minerva, and Poppy were supposed to know about it, “but you are still a student at this school, and must abide by school rules. Madam Pomfrey informed me that you were in the forbidden forest?”

Hermione squirmed in the hospital bed, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “Erm, yes, Professor. I went to the forest with Viktor – Viktor Krum, I mean, after hours and all – but I really didn’t think anything was going to happen! We were studying occlumency together, and it really wasn’t his fault, I’m a bit of an over-achiever, you see-“

“Mister Krum will not be in trouble for this occurrence, Miss Granger, set your heart at ease. Please, what happened in the forest?”

Hermione took a moment to look at Severus, who raised an eyebrow in response. “Well, he was trying to teach me how to communicate mentally, erm, what’s it called, Communicative Legilimency? But I think it was a bit outside of my abilities. And I wanted to hide some memories from him, you know, and I just ended up forgetting them completely-“

“She created a safe-room in her mind, and subconsciously locked it. Quite clever, if she had the grasp to make it reversible.” Severus cut in.

Albus nodded. “I see. Miss Granger, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that you made some very poor decisions. Mind magic is very complex, and should only be practiced in a controlled environment. As it is, you have broken no less than five school rules. Because of this, I am assigning you three weeks of detention with Professor Snape, in which he will teach you basic occlumency so that these mistakes will not occur again.”

Hermione’s head snapped up. “Three weeks?”

“Albus, certainly you don’t mean to ask me…” Severus started angrily.

Dumbledore looked at both of them sternly, and Severus quieted. “I’m sure you realize why this is necessary, Severus. With such fresh wounds, her mind will need extended healing. And lastly, Miss Granger?”

“Yes, Professor?” Hermione said.

“I will be taking one-hundred points from Gryffindor for your behavior. I’m very disappointed in you.”

Hermione made her face look suitably upset and looked at her lap. “Yes, Professor. I’m sorry for disappointing you. It won’t happen again.” She twisted her hands anxiously.

“Of that, I have no doubt.” He said. “Now get some rest. You and Professor Snape can coordinate the time of your detentions once you have had a chance to return to Gryffindor tower and recover.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I know my updates have been slower, but this chapter drove me crazy! Thankfully, we have our heroine back and healed, thanks to the quick mental work of Severus!
> 
> About the legilimency: Alastor Moody is a master legilimens, which is a part of how he was so effective in the DMLE. However, Crouch is not. So while he could invade Hermione’s mind and read her thoughts, he was unable to break in when he wanted to. Severus, on the other hand, could’ve broken past her defenses if she was unwilling to let him in.
> 
> Hermione is 100% Hermione now, with all of her memories. The copies of memories appeared because she locked away anything past fourth year and memories that strictly gave up her future knowledge, just in case Viktor proved to be inclined to dig through her memories.
> 
> About Dumbledore: I’ve had a few questions about why Dumbledore hasn’t been more present in this story. Dumbledore is a busy guy, and I don’t subscribe to the “manipulative Dumbledore” trope that’s become so common. However, I do think Dumbledore gets a lot of his information from other people – Snape, Moody, the paintings, the ghosts – they all allow him to know much more than the average wizard when he’s in Hogwarts, because he’s far too busy to pay attention to it himself. Think about it, he’s a politician, a member of parliament, and he runs a school. That is one busy dude! So his information is often second-hand from trusted sources. One of those sources is Snape, so he’s getting a very edited version of Hermione’s actions at school.


	50. Chapter 49 - Constancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione attends detention with Snape.

Hermione's first detention with Severus was only a day after the potions mishap, on Sunday afternoon. If anyone else were to ask, it would of course be a grueling detention involving manual labor and rat spleens – but it was really a much more dignified affair, with tea and even biscuts.

"Miss Granger, do come in." Said Severus coldly. Hermione raised an eyebrow at his tone, but it wasn't out of the norm for him, especially outside of his quarters. She walked in without a word, nodding her thanks as he held the door open for her. "I could have you perform an actual detention, if I thought it were useful in teaching you." Snape's eyes were as blank as an abyss, and Hermione couldn't quite figure out what he was on about. "But instead, I would like to discuss your conduct recently." He said this very calmly, pouring her tea.

"My conduct, Severus? Do you mean the memory wipe?" She took the cup absently, more focused on his expression.

If Snape were a less reserved man, he would probably have rolled his eyes at her. As it was, his next words came out in a snarl: "I mean the _blatant disregard_ for common sense you've been exhibiting recently! Why would you bind your memories? Especially with that drivel Skeeter wrote, and even more so that you didn't inform me or Draco." Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but he continued overtop of her, "I have half a mind to take you out of any further plans and simply find and destroy the remaining horcruxes without you. And I may, if you don't stop making idiotically rash, Gryffindorish decisions! Hasn't Draco taught you anything about subtly?"

"Severus," Hermione said strongly. "The memory wipe was a _mistake_. A bad one, yes, but not one that warrants my removal from our team. The team that _I_ created, let me remind you."

He scoffed. "From what I've seen, Draco has been the mastermind behind this operation."

"I'll thank you to withhold judgement on something you don't understand." Hermione said. Her blood was boiling, and the words didn't really seem like they came from her. Some other quick witted, brown haired girl was using her mouth to speak, and Hermione merely observed. "I have sacrificed so much, done so much, to get us this second chance."

"We've all _sacrificed,_ Miss Granger. We've all worked hard. And all that will be for naught, if you don't continue to work for what you wish to accomplish. I have attempted to discover why you were acting the way you have, and I have concluded that you are _lazy._ You imagine to sit back and relax until the third task, when we shall swoop in and save the day. Because that's what a Gryffindor sees as the main challenge, isn't it? The big, flashy battle?"

Hermione simply stared at him as if struck. "We must prepare for the third task, Severus. I know that. You know it, too, that's all that matters."

"And what of after the third task? The next few hours, even? We will have to make many more decisions, work much longer, and continue to sacrifice. What about before, the things we are doing now and _changing_? These will have far reaching effects, Miss Granger. The damage done by your memory loss alone will ripple outward in the coming months, in the coming years."

"I know it was a mistake, Severus. It certainly won't happen again, and I will be able to repair whatever damage was wrought."

"I do not believe you will, Miss Granger."

"Why ever not?" She said, affronted.

"In the week and a half since you… lapsed, a few things have already altered from the future you've been trying to cultivate. Firstly, Rita Skeeter wrote an article, as I'm sure you recall. Do you know what danger could come from that?"

Hermione wanted dearly to roll her eyes, but refrained. Severus, one of the only people who knew her true age, was treating her like a child. _And what would make him do that?_ Said a voice in the back of her mind. _Perhaps you have really been too hasty, too Gryffindorish._ She shook the voice away. She would just have to convince him that she was thinking more than he believed her to be.

"I imagine Harry and I will continue to suffer some backlash from that, as well as Viktor." She looked for a response from Severus, but he stayed quiet, as if waiting for her to continue. "Viktor may decide to break things off if he thinks Harry and I really were a couple. But I doubt it'll happen before the second task, after which it doesn't matter anymore." She would actually find herself missing Viktor's company, when he wasn't trying to teach her dangerous mind magic. She wanted another look at that fairy circle, if nothing else.

"What about Skeeter?" Said Severus slowly, as if talking to a small child or a very dumb animal.

"What about her? We'll go through with our plan concerning the Fidelus, and she'll do anything we want her to." Honestly, Hermione had learned to fear the woman's wrath a long time ago, but she knew she had the leverage over her this time.

And if anything went very wrong, Hermione wasn't above squashing her like a bug, in a very literal way.

"Skeeter is testing the waters, seeing how far you'll let her go. Or even if you're still there to influence her. You already showed your hand by letting her know you didn't want her to talk about Potter after the Weighing of the Wands. It was clumsy, Gryffindorish. Skeeter is a _Slytherin_ , Hermione, and a reporter. They thrive on threats, blackmail, and toe the line of morality as if it were a game." Hermione had to conceal a smirk, for the same thing could be said for spies. "She will be looking for your identity. She may have even written the way she did as an experiment: if you go after her about this article, she will know she is dealing with Hermione Granger, the Heroine of Sussex."

Hermione leaned forward. A part of her wanted to argue, to say that he was wrong. But this was more important than pride, this was an ally contributing to the cause. She needed to heed his words, just as she took Draco's lessons in espionage and occlumency without guile, and took Poppy's advice about her abrasive personality to heart. "And how do you think she figured out the connection between the Heroine and me?"

Snape leaned forward over his desk, looking at her intently. "She may have noticed your concerns were centered around Hogwarts, or picked up your age from your voice. Then it was a matter of narrowing down Hogwarts students instead of the entire Wizarding World. For someone of her caliber, it would take a matter of months. Of course, she doesn't have the benefit of legilimency, just her meddlesome animagus form."

She thought hard about that. She really did overdo it with Skeeter. She had known that from the beginning, really. She knew it was a bad idea to take off the morning of the wand weighing, but she was so caught up in what was _right_ and _just_ that made her lose sight of what was _smart_ and _sensible._ And Hermione considered herself a very smart and sensible person, although she realized she wasn't in this regard. "I suppose I've made some pretty horrible oversights, when you put it that way." She said, much more calmly than she felt. "And Skeeter isn't the biggest fish we're frying."

Snape almost looked taken aback by her tone, sure that he was about to deal with a very hotheaded Gryffindor. But he went on as if nothing rattled him; maybe nothing did phase him at all anymore. Too many years living a double life. "Correct. She is the least of her concerns. Do you know what I am most concerned about?"

There was that tone again, the one that made her feel like a first year again. She brushed it off, using her newly revived occlumency shields to calm herself. "I know I'm concerned about Dumbledore. He's a wild card, that one."

Severus heaved a great sigh that told Hermione she hadn't guessed correctly. "The Headmaster is a consideration, but hardly a threat."

"Why do you think so?" Hermione cocked her head to the side, bushy hair becoming even more frizzed.

"He has many other topics to consider besides the habits of a student, particularly one that isn't Potter. You have definitely roused his attention, but I wouldn't expect him to take any action. He believes in good intentions and Gryffindor courage."

"He is a fool." Hermione said scornfully. That was something which had kept her away from the headmaster: his damned morality would get in the way. If she were reporting to Dumbledore – and that's another thing, it would be _him_ in charge, not her – then he would have a stricter moral code than her two Slytherin conspirators. Dumbledore would never allow her to kill Rita Skeeter, if that's what it came to. His good intentions were what left Harry in the dark for so long, made the Horcrux chase take so damned long, and what ultimately caused the Third War.

Snape shook his head, though, disagreeing. "He is not a fool, although he likes people to think he is. But he has limits, Hermione. Most of his information in the castle is second-hand, and I assume a good portion of that knowledge comes from myself. If Albus were to learn of your actions, he would still take a long time to come to a decision, and that is time that we could use to our benefit.

"No, you're missing the biggest threat of all: Barty Crouch."

Hermione gasped. "You don't think he knows?"

"I do not know what he knows, and that is what makes him dangerous." Snape said gravely. "Your mental state once I reached you in your mindscape was so scattered that he could've run across any number of memories. Perhaps your future memories were still locked away, but perhaps not."

"What do we do about him?" She was gaping. Snape wasn't a master spy for nothing, she reminded herself.

He made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a snort. "We can't do anything. But the time is ripe for planning, and that is what we shall do. Not that I'm not overworked enough already."

She nodded stiffly. What other threats could she have overlooked? What else had she missed? "We need Draco here for this, don't we?"

Severus glanced at the clock that sat behind Hermione on a small table. "Now is not the time. It's nearly midnight, and I have to teach rooms full of dunderheads tomorrow."

"Severus, it's only just passed ten."

He almost growled at her. "The number of calls I have upon my time is well past astronomical. I need some semblance of a reprieve from this madhouse Albus calls a school." He grumbled. If Hermione didn't know better, she would've called it a whine. Perhaps he was right, though. He certainly didn't have an endless amount of hours in the day, like she did.

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, Hermione dearly wished she had mastered communicative legilimency – for all the trouble she had gone through to learn the skill, certainly she should get the payout – to plan a time to meet with Draco. He kept eying her carefully, as though she were a bomb about to go off or a delicate tower about to fall. Hermione was neither of those things. No, she was using her first go-round as a recovery day.

And by recovery, Hermione meant recovering all of her contacts. It was time she checked on her small network: Sirius was away in Berlin, but just a mirror-call away. Remus, since he had moved in with Sirius. Dobby, of course. Those three were her safest allies, but there were plenty more that could give her information, albeit unknowingly. She settled in the Room of Requirements to talk to her most effective ally.  

Dobby was really the most useful of all, because he could flit in and out of Hogwarts without a second glance. "Dobby?" She said softly, listening for the telltale pop of house-elf apparition.

"Miss Hermione!" Said Dobby joyfully. "You is needing Dobby?"

"It's so good to see you, Dobby!" Hermione said excitedly. "How have you been?" Just because he was a house elf, didn't mean she should just order him about.

"I is doing well, Miss Hermione. I has been helping Winky, and I has been helping everyone who is in need of helping, like you asked." He sounded quite proud, puffing up his pillowcase-covered chest.

Hermione blinked. She supposed she had told him that, although she didn't realize how seriously he would take it. "Oh? What have you done so far?"

"Well, I helped Harry Potter's wheezies with their house – they had horrible gnomes and ghouls, oh yes. It was hard work, but Dobby has gotten rid of them!" He beamed at her. "I also helps prevent bad wizards from getting their evil work done, I have. I trips them while they does their shopping, and all of their dark posessions go flying."

This time, Hermione openly gaped. She had created a vigilante. Well, she had fueled a vigilante's fire by lending her magic and practically ordering him to "help the world." And what was more, people probably credited it to bad luck or the Heroine herself, depending how much people still talked about her.

"Oh that's wonderful. Good work, Dobby. I hate to pull you away from that, but I have a favor to ask."

"Anything, Miss Hermione," Dobby said adoringly. She felt a little guilty; did she really deserve his adoration, when all she had done was accept him as a servant and ask him to do things.

The thought made her pause, but she still had a task that needed doing. "Dobby, would you be able to keep me up to date on the movements of Alastor Moody? He's the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor here. I need to know what his habits are, if he ever goes anywhere that may seem unusual, and especially if he investigates me, Severus Snape, or Draco Malfoy. And of course Harry." She tacked on as an afterthought. It wouldn't hurt to have an extra set of eyes keeping her informed, just in case Crouch really did learn something from her mind. "Oh, but don't let him see you. He has a magical eye, so you must be very careful. I don't want him noticing you and harming you."

"Miss Hermione is so kind to think of Dobby, and to defend Harry Potter." Dobby said cheerfully. "I can help yous with this."

"Oh excellent, thank you very much, Dobby! I'm so grateful for you, honestly. You're doing me a huge help." She really was grateful. Dobby had been such an unexpected boon. And an inspiration to her for S.P.E.W., although she realized now that she came on far too strong, too quickly. Some elves weren't ready to think about wages and freedom.

"How is Winky doing?" She said, remembering how against wages she had seemed.

Dobby's small proud face turned quite sad. "Oh, I am afraid Winky is not doing well at all. She is wanting work, but she is not able to find it. She wants to work for Mister Crouch, but he is casting her aside. She won't even tell my why he has cast her out." He wrung his hands anxiously.

"Does she need someone else to look after her?" Hermione asked tentatively. She didn't want to suggest Hogwarts, for she knew how badly that ended the last time.

The way Dobby perked up made Hermione think that was _exactly_ what Winky needed. "Dobby is thinking so, yes."

Hermione felt a smirk playing across her lips. Severus was feeling overworked, was he? Well, she might have just the solution for him.


	51. Chapter 50 - The Night Before the Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was the night before the second task, and all through the castle some plots were brewing.

Dobby popped in to tell Hermione that Winky, the poor dear, had gone back to thinking Crouch would take her back. “She has stopped looking for work, Winky has. It shames her when she is seeing other houses ask why Crouchy cast her out, and she isn’t telling them. I is telling _her_ , Miss Hermione, that Crouchy is never accepting Winky’s help again, I is. He has cast her out, and it is unheard of for a master to accept a house elf back.” He paused, looking up at her with wide eyes, as if deciding whether or not to keep talking. Eventually, he continued.

“I thinks she should give up her Crouchy’s secrets. I was saying so, and she doesn’t listen to Dobby now. She thinks that Crouchy’s secrets is still her secrets, but he is not her master!”

“I see. You did well, Dobby, and I’m sorry it didn’t work. I hope she realizes soon how much happier she will be if she weren’t pining after Barty Crouch.” Hermione’s eyebrows frowned. Since learning about the mutual symbiosis of house elf bonds – the elf gains magical strength and stability, the human gains a laborer – it wasn’t a perfect solution, but she couldn’t manage a better one with the threat of Voldemort looming overhead.

“Can I talk to her?” Hermione said tentatively.

Dobby’s face was screwed up in thought. He shook his head a bit. “No, Miss Hermione,” he said, shaking his head so vigorously that his ears slapped him across the face. “No, that would be a bad idea for Winky. She isn’t ready to talk to humans, I think.” He was tense, she realized, looking at his small frame jittering in front of her.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Why was he tense? Did he expect her to refuse him?

When she thought about it, this was the first time Dobby _had_ refused her; she had honestly started to wonder if he could, even though she always phrased her questions as requests and told Dobby to use his best judgement. While she thought she could do a good job of convincing Winky to help her, she wasn’t going to force it.

That went against the whole point of S.P.E.W., after all.

“Very well, but when you feel it’s safe, let her know that I’ll be happy to talk to her,” she said, giving Dobby a small smile. Something in his stance relaxed a little, and she had to keep herself from being aghast. Dobby came from a home that would’ve probably told him to beat himself if he had said the same things to them as he did to her. It was natural for him to be nervous around any human, and it was honestly impressive that he had adjusted to working with her so well.

“Please take care of her, Dobby. I know how important she is to you.”

“Oh I is already taking care of her, but Dobby will continue.” He said, and _popped_ out of existence.

Hermione sat down on her camp bed, the springs creaking as she settled down to think. Her classroom was a very nice place to think, for barring Dobby or disaster, no one could get to her here. (Or Severus, said a voice in her head, but dismissed it immediately, both because she was quite cross with the man and because he had never made it _past_ her wards).

Severus was incredibly infuriating these days. He really seemed to think she was “unfit for duty,” as he called it, and was determined to smack some sense into her in _detentions._ It was frankly embarrassing for both of them. At this point, she was far from being student-aged, when you counted her physical aging in this timeline and her time-jumping.

She grumbled to herself about men and melodrama. At one point this year, Severus was her only confidant, honestly the only one she could count on to know anything. And strange as it was calling Severus a confidant, no other label seemed to fit him. Their relationship had progressed far past Professor and Student, and there was no way she was considering him a “friend.” She snorted softly. Draco was the only person taking her seriously right now, the only one who really got her. She would wait until after the second task, and convince him that she was in her right mind. After the second task was when they could really start helping Harry, after all. That was the last milestone that he would be on display, where Voldemort could possibly get a clue that he was anything but an average student.

He wouldn’t expect a warrior, and that was what Hermione intended to give him. Well, that and a few other things. All of their eggs were in this basket: they would kill Voldemort at the end of the year. They needed to work out the logistics of exactly how to get her, Draco, and now Severus into the graveyard, but magic was on their side in this: Voldemort couldn’t create anti-apparition wards or anti-portkey wards, because he needed the former for his followers and the latter for Harry’s arrival. If only they could make portkeys from Hogwarts to the graveyard, they could arrive seconds after Harry under disillusionment. But Dumbledore was the only one who could make portkeys inside Hogwarts.

She would know, having basically memorized _Hogwarts: A History._ It was one of the most basic safety measures for the school. No, Hermione simply didn’t trust Dumbledore to make the right decisions, to work on a team with them.

Dumbledore had a tendency to sit back and _watch_ as things unfolded, never directly intervening. And if Severus, his right-hand man, were to feed him false information, he would never learn enough to finally intervene. Or he would send Severus to intervene, which (despite her personal grumblings concerning Severus) would practically insure that their plans would work out.

Hermione laid back on her cot. She had only a few scant hours before she would replace herself for the night, the one who was currently asking Neville to help Harry with his underwater troubles (She didn’t want to pull Dobby away from his other duties). That meant a few hours and she would be put in an enchanted sleep under the lake, and it really just didn’t have the same effect as sleep. She let her eyes drift closed, uneasy dreams full of bright lights in the dark.

* * *

Hermione awoke to the sound of chimes, her alarm for returning from her do-over day. She lugged herself to her feet. It was time to be a hostage. She replaced her old self in the second-floor bathroom and returned to the library, where Ron and Harry were talking excitedly.

“I bet you can get whatever thing they’ve put down there in ten minutes! This Gilly-stuff, it’ll really do the trick!” Ron said supportively.

Hermione’s lip curled in disgust. “What’s that?” She said, gesturing to the soggy brown mess in Harry’s hand.

“Gillyweed,” he said, looking just as grossed out as she. “It’ll make me breathe underwater.”

“Oh but Harry, that’s wonderful!” She crowed excitedly. “Wherever did you get it?”

“Neville.” Harry said proudly. “Knicked it from Snape’s stores and everything- said he crashed into a few bottles on the way out, but who cares? It’s only Snape.”

“Professor Snape,” Hermione said absently. “But that was really dangerous, and quite nice of him too! He must really care about you, Harry, to confront his greatest fear for you.” Harry gave her a look that clearly said he hadn’t thought about that before. She loved her boys, she really did, but they could be incredibly thick. Who could forget Neville’s Severus in old witch’s clothes? “Anyway, I’m sure you’ll do just fine, Harry. All you have to do is find whatever’s in the Great Lake.”

“Yeah, just search the entire Great Lake before an hour runs out and I end up drowning. Piece of cake.” He said glumly, looking at his pile of Gillyweed tendrils.

“Better you than me,” Ron said.

At that moment, McGonagall walked into the library. “Ah, Mister Weasley,” she said briskly. “Your presence is needed this evening.”

Hermione blinked.

“Ermm… whut?” Ron said ineloquently. “I mean, what do you need, Professor?”

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, a sure sign that she disapproved of something. “It will be explained in time. If you could please follow me?”

Ron went to grab his bag, but McGonagall said to leave it. “Mister Potter can return it to your dormitory, I trust?”

Harry nodded, and off she swept, Ron trailing behind her.

“What d’you reckon that’s all about?” Harry asked.

She didn’t respond for a moment. “I… I don’t know. Its really weird.” She looked down at the book she had opened. “Just really weird.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, looking at her as if she had sprouted another eye in the middle of her head. “You alright, Hermione?”

She forced her gaze back into focus, looking at Harry in the eyes. “Oh, yes, I must be tired is all. Oh, I had an idea for you, Harry – did you know it’s possible to cast spells without saying the words?” She said, focusing with an intensity far more extreme than was really needed.

Harry shook his head. “Nah, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? Tom from the Leaky never said any spells when we were in Diagon, and unless they’re teaching us something, I dunno if the professors ever use words when they cast.”

 “Yes, exactly. Listen, I did some light reading on it, and now that we know you have Gillyweed I think you have a good chance of casting spells underwater as long as you can do them silently, because it’s really quite simple. It’s the same theory of will as forcing off the imperious, or casting more advanced spells like _accio_ -“

Harry cut her off. “Hermione?” He asked quickly. “You’re ranting a bit.”

She sighed audibly. He was right, she was speaking too fast for him to process. It was something she did when she was nervous. “Sorry, Harry. Do you want to try casting a simple spell silently?”

“What, like lumos?”

“Perfect. Really, all you have to do is think the words in your head, and really _want_ it to happen. Give it a try.” She gestured towards him.

“Alright, erm,” he furrowed his brow, and mouthed the word for ‘ _lumos’_ quite cartoonishly. Nothing happened. “I dunno about this, Hermione.” He scratched the back of his head, mussing his hair.

“Try again.”

Once more, Harry squinted at the tip of his wand in concentration, and mouthed ‘ _lumos_.’ The faintest spark appeared at the tip of his wand, like a dying torch. “It’s working!” he said excitedly. _‘Lumos!’_ he mouthed once more, and a brilliant light shone on their table. Madam Pince looked over disapprovingly.

“Blimey, Mione, I didn’t realize how easy it’d be!” He said, grinning at the new trick. Hermione smiled back, but it was decidedly hollow. She was glad that she confirmed one of her theories about teaching Harry – he was millions of times better if he thought it was an easy thing to do beforehand, but if he was nervous or self-conscious, he did very badly.

No, Hermione was worried for an entirely different reason: she was not Viktor Krum’s hostage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for reading and for dealing with my slow updates! Oh my gosh guys I'm so sorry for the long break! I just got back to school for my senior year of undergrad, there was a hurricane, and I'm taking a novel-writing course where I have to write some original stuff. All in all, I haven't had a lot of time for fanfic! I'm not gonna lie, I kinda lagged at this chapter because I was having a lot of trouble deciding what to do with the second task. My motivation is super down for this story, so any words of encouragement would help a lot.


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